


The Shape I'm In

by Em_Jaye



Series: The Officer Lewis Chronicles [2]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Angst and More Angst, BAMF Darcy Lewis, BAMF Women, Bucky Barnes Has Issues, Cop AU, Darcy Lewis Angst, Eventual Happy Ending, F/M, Frenemies Bucky Barnes & Sam Wilson, Steve Rogers Angst, Women Being Awesome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-27
Updated: 2018-10-12
Packaged: 2018-11-05 11:18:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 17
Words: 91,045
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11012370
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Em_Jaye/pseuds/Em_Jaye
Summary: What was happening in New York wasn’t crazy at all.It was calculated.Deliberate.Deadly.And if he was right, he was the only one who could stop it.





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

> Aaaand we're back. This is Part 2 of the Officer Lewis Chronicles, set about a year and a half after the Take Your Aim.
> 
> If you haven't read Take Your Aim yet, you're welcome to continue, but things will make a lot less sense. Ye be warned.
> 
> Amerna gets most of the credit for this story; she's been amazingly, stupendously wonderful to listen to me talk about it nonstop for the last like, three months. <3 <3 <3 She gets all the love and hugs.

Brooklyn was a fucking mess.

The whole of New York was a fucking mess, but Brooklyn was particularly bad and it had been getting progressively worse for the last few months. Between the construction projects closing down every other intersection and the unrelenting heat wave, there’d been very little chance of anything other than a miserable summer.

The triple-digit temperatures, the frothy mix of current political climate and the protests and riots over the Jared Griffin trial had Darcy starting to understand why her parents had relocated to the suburbs.

The protestors’ bull horns and the whistles from the officers attempting to keep the peace partnered with the way her shirt had been sticking to her back and the last thing she needed was a microphone in her face as she got out of the patrol car.

“Detective Lewis,” the reporter was younger, blonde and tanner than Darcy could ever hope to be.

“Officer,” she corrected before she could stop herself and slammed the passenger door behind her.

“Officer Lewis,” the blonde amended herself with a smile that didn’t show her teeth. “Can you answer a few questions?”

She shook her head. “This isn’t my case,” she said, looking over the top of her sunglasses, narrowing her gaze at the cacophony of protesters. “I don’t have anything to say about Jared Griffin that hasn’t already been said.”

“Oh,” the reporter mirrored Darcy and shook her own head. “No, I’m not reporting on Jared Griffin.”

A few steps ahead of her, Eddie—equally sweaty and miserable—stopped walking and turned back. He raised his eyebrows, silently asking if she wanted him to stick around. She waved him off and turned her attention back to the woman in front of her. “Then what do you want a comment on?”

“I was wondering if you could comment on your relationship with Tony Stark and the other Avengers?”

Darcy stopped fidgeting with the car keys and cell phone in her hand and looked up with a bemused half-smile. “I’m sorry,” she said, knocking her sunglasses back into place. “What is this regarding?”

The reporter’s smile was patient and only a little patronizing. “Mostly the seven-figure fundraisers Stark’s been throwing for the NYPD since the Brooklyn Carver case was closed last spring.”

She shrugged. “Maybe he’s grateful we got a killer off the streets.”

The other woman raised her eyebrows. “You don’t think you personally had anything to do with this sudden burst in generosity?”

“The Avengers involved in the Brooklyn Carver case are well documented,” Darcy said, reciting the tired phrase she’d found herself using every time this question came up. “If you check those records, you’ll find that Tony Stark wasn’t one of them. And I don’t have a relationship with him.”

“What about Captain America?”

“Uh, yeah,” she said with a thoughtful tilt of her head. “He helped.”

There was that patient smile. “Still denying the personal nature of your relationship with him?”

Darcy eyed her evenly. “No comment on that either.”

“Don’t you think it’s kind of convenient—”

“Listen,” She pushed her glasses up onto the top of her head and squinted in the late afternoon sunlight. “I think I just sat in a hot car for six hours, sweating my ass off and waiting for a suspect to do something stupid. No part of that was convenient for me. But if Billionaire-Philanthropist Tony Stark thinks I deserve more than $18 an hour for doing so, I’m certainly not going to argue.”

The blonde looked amused. “Wouldn’t it be easier to stop keeping your relationship with Captain America a secret and just take credit for being the person who’s getting your fellow officers the much-needed funding they’ve been missing after a decade of budget cuts?”

Darcy’s expression dropped. “Okay,” she said swiftly and locked the cruiser with a press of a button. “I’m done humoring you.”

“Darcy—”

“ _Officer_ ,” Darcy called over her shoulder as she started walking toward the front door. “I think I mentioned that.”

At the front desk, Kristina returned her harried greeting with a sympathetic smile. “Still crazy out there, huh?”

“ _Why_ , when the country is in shambles—literal shambles—and the whole damn city is falling apart, does someone think my non-existent personal relationship with Tony-fucking-Stark is some kind of human-interest piece?” She clenched her jaw in frustration. “And just so we’re clear, not flaunting something personal is not the same as keeping it a secret! I’m not sneaking around!”

“Wait—who’s not sneaking around?” Kristina asked, her expression twisted in confusion.

Darcy frowned. “What are you talking about?”

Kristina blinked her wide, brown eyes. “The protesters…” she said, quirking an eyebrow upward. “What are you talking about?”

She pressed her lips together. “The protesters,” she said with a scoff. “Obviously.”

Kristina narrowed her eyes. “Did someone start asking about the fundraiser?” When Darcy didn’t answer right away, she reached for her rolodex. “You know, you can call PR and have them handle this. That’s part of their job.”

She let out a heavy, embarrassed exhale as she pulled her hair out of its wilted bun and flipped herself forward to gather her dark tresses at the top of her head again. “It’s nothing to worry about,” she said, changing her tune as she righted herself. “I’m just hot and gross and bitchy.” She glanced with a frown toward the front door and the angry mob still visible through the glass. “And I really don’t know what’s going to happen when that verdict is read.”

The receptionist nodded with understanding. “I literally can’t get away from these crowds,” she said with a sigh. “It took me _two hours_ to get home last night.”

Darcy nodded and shoved her hair out of her face. “It’s not that I don’t get why they’re protesting,” she said, shrugging back into her blazer and clipping her badge to her belt. “But it’s not like we’re holding him here.”

Kristina moved her shoulders. “I heard something about the crowds being too big outside the jail and the courthouse,” she said, tilting her head thoughtfully. “Maybe they’re just out of places to go.”

Darcy sighed. “Lucky us,” she grumbled as Kristina returned her attention the ringing phone.

Eddie was waiting for her on his side of their back-to-back desks. He was reclined in his chair, his head tilted back and was spritzing himself with the spray bottle they usually used for their sad, wilty fichus. He gave the bottle a shake as she dropped her bag at her chair and booted up her computer. “Want a spritz?”

She shook her head and glanced down at her sweat-laden tank top with a frown. “I’m damp enough, thanks.”

“What’d that skinny chick want?” Eddie asked, giving the dry soil of the potted plant a merciful few sprays.

She rolled her eyes. “To pry into my personal life.”

“Must be a slow news week,” he commented with a grin.

“Tell me about it.”

“Speaking of,” he looked up from the plant. “You still going to go to that thing on Thursday?” When she groaned, he continued. “Come onnnn it’ll be fun. And I can’t go if you don’t.”

“You _definitely_ can,” she assured him. “But you shouldn’t.”

He looked hurt. “Rude.”

“We’re on call!” she reminded with a roll of her eyes. “Until Monday.”

He shrugged. “So, what?”

“It’s black tie,” she said, typing in her username and password to unlock her desktop. She looked up. “Are you going to go to a decomp in black tie?”

“Fuck yeah!” he exclaimed, making her laugh. “I love working a scene in a tux. Makes me feel like James Bond.” He set the spray bottle down and jutted out his bottom lip. “C’mon, Lewis. Promise you’ll go.”

She groaned and wrinkled her nose. “But I’m probably going to be dateless.”

“No, you won’t!” he promised immediately. “I’m man enough for two dates.”

Darcy rolled her eyes again. “Tempting,” she said flatly. “But I don’t like to share you with Becca.”

He scoffed. “You mean you don’t like to share _Becca_ with _me._ ”

She grinned. “That’s accurate.”

“And you never know,” Eddie shrugged with a hopeful look. “He might be back in time.”

She shook her head. If she looked at the calendar, she would have been reminded that Steve had been gone for just over three weeks by that point. And that the last time he’d had a minute to talk to her, he had sounded exhausted and a million miles away. And that the idea that he’d not only be back unexpectedly, but want to spend his precious free time at a black-tie event—even if it was for something as important to him as the NYPD—was almost laughable.

But Darcy didn’t laugh. Because it had been twenty-three days since she’d said goodbye to Steve and Eddie knew better than anyone how much his absence was weighing on her.

“I’m not holding my breath,” she commented as she pulled up the case file and opened the surveillance document. She glanced up over the monitor. “And even if he is,” her gaze shot toward the window again where the sounds of the protests could still be heard, “if there’s a verdict before Friday, all of our weekend plans are cancelled and you know it.”

Jared Griffin was all anyone had been talking about for months. A prominent prosecutor, known both for his legal cunning and his uncommonly kind and generous nature, Griffin had been a leader in the borough for the last few years. A Brooklyn boy from a single-parent home who’d put himself through law school at Stanford and came home to do some good in his own backyard. The comparisons to Obama had started not long after he’d come back from California and weren’t without merit. He and his wife were community organizers for criminal justice reform and it seemed he’d been a lock for an appointment to the State’s Attorney’s Office.

Until January 20th, when he’d been found on his front lawn, covered in his wife’s blood, a knife still clutched in his hand, claiming no memory of the previous twenty-four hours.

It was a flimsy defense to begin with. One made worse by the fact that even if Griffin himself didn’t remember the last twenty-four hours, there were plenty to remember them for him. He’d been at a police fundraiser—hosted by Tony Stark, no less. Both Darcy _and_ Eddie had given statements that Griffin had given an eloquent speech about the importance of the police in the reform of the justice system. He’d been funny and charming and not remotely appearing to be mentally unstable or without his bearings. Before that he’d been at work, witnessed by dozens and before that he’d gone to Parent Day in his son’s fifth grade classroom.

He had no alibi for the time of his wife’s murder. He was covered in evidence and the murder weapon had to be forcibly removed from his hand.

The only thing he had going for him was a complete lack of motive and an impeccably nonviolent record. It was the defense’s only card to play after Griffin had resolutely refused every deal the state had offered. The protests and riots had started almost immediately; accusations of police incompetence, of racial discrimination, and of the system railroading an innocent black man had all gotten progressively more volatile over the course of the sweltering summer.

Eddie’s father—who’d turned decidedly grayer since the trial began in the middle of summer—had his retirement pushed back to sit second chair for the prosecution. At the barbecue Eddie had hosted for his son’s seventh birthday, the older Kimball had looked drained and warned them both that any verdict was likely to be cause for riot gear.

Eddie followed her gaze with a forlorn look. “What a fucking mess,” he commented.

“Has your dad said anything about the case?” she asked, already knowing the answer.

“You mean between death threats about how he’s a traitor to the community?” Eddie shook his head with a frown that deepened the lines on his forehead. “No. Not really.”

Darcy swallowed hard. Eddie hadn’t had the easiest summer either.

She cleared her throat and changed the subject. “You want me to type up our notes, or do you want to do it?”

Eddie laughed, the tension broken. “What notes? Sat in a car set to broil for six and a half hours, watched our suspect eat four ice cream bars. Ate two ice creams ourselves. Gave the night shift a high-five and headed out.” He shook his head as Darcy’s phone started ringing. “I’ll write it up,” he clarified, pointing to it. “You answer that.”

She sighed and answered it with a smile. “Homicide, this is Lewis.”

“It’s Kristina.”

“What’s up?”

“There’s a delivery for you down here.”

She groaned. “Can’t you just send it up?”

“Nope,” the ‘p’ popped through the phone a little more cheerfully than Darcy would have expected. “You have to sign for it and they won’t let me.”

“What is it?”

“I don’t know,” Kristina said with a laugh. “It’s for you.”

She sighed again. “Okay, fine, I’ll be down in a minute.” She hung up the phone and grabbed her bag. “I’m going to get whatever this is and then I’m probably going to head out,” she said, glancing at her watch. “You need anything before I go?”

Eddie didn’t look up from his computer screen. “Grab this from the printer and sign it before you leave,” he requested, pointing to the shared ink-jet a few desks away.

Darcy did as she was asked, pausing before adding her signature when her cell phone began to ring. The irritated sigh she let out was cut short at the sight of the number and the voice waiting for her on the other end of the line.

“What are you wearing?”

She let out a snort of laughter before she tucked the phone between her ear and shoulder and scrawled her signature on the surveillance notes. “Well,” she said, dropping the paper in front of Eddie. “I’m at work, so I’m obviously wearing a g-string bikini and a cowboy hat.”

This snapped the attention of her partner up from his phone with a curious, raised eyebrow. “Please tell me that’s Natasha Romanoff,” he said around a laugh.

Darcy rolled her eyes and raised her middle finger at him before she returned her attention to the phone pressed to her ear. “Your turn.”

Steve had always had the kind of smile you could hear in his voice. The sound of it curled a spiral of warmth in her belly that had nothing to do with the office’s broken air conditioner. “Something similar, actually,” he said, making her laugh again. “Remind me not to let Tony pick what we wear undercover.” He laughed with her for a second before she heard him smile again. “How’s my favorite cop?”

“Eddie’s good,” Darcy answered easily, making Steve laugh again. “He’s even going to file our surveillance reports for me.”

“What a prince,” Steve commented, sounding much more relaxed than he had the last time they’d talked, letting Darcy hope he’d called with enough free time for an actual conversation instead of a quick check-in. “Are you busy?” he asked. “I can call back later.”

“No, no,” she said quickly, grabbing her bag on her way past her desk. “I’m on my way home. I’ve got all the time in the world.”

“Oh yeah?” Steve asked and she could have sworn she heard his eyebrow tick upward.

“On my _way_ home,” she repeated with a grin, pleased that her hope for the possibility of phone sex wasn’t one-sided. “Not home yet. Give me a minute.” The top of Kristina’s desk was empty when she reached the lobby. Darcy frowned and held out her free hand in question. “Where’s my stuff?”

The receptionist pointed to the side door with another shrug. “Waiting outside.”

“You told him to wait in the creeper alley?” she asked with another wrinkle of her nose. “Why would you send him out there?”

Kristina moved her shoulder. “If you wanna fight the crowds again—”

“What’s going on?” Steve asked, sounding amused as she let out another grumble of frustration.

“Nothing,” she said, pushing open the door and stepping out into the thick evening. “I’m just supposed to be signing for some delivery and I guess they’re waiting—” she stopped with a yelp of surprise at the sight of Steve Rogers standing at the foot of the stairs, smiling as he tucked his phone back into his pocket.

For someone who’d been sleeping on the ground in Albania for the last three weeks, he looked pretty good. White t-shirt, jeans and a few days’ worth of surprisingly dark stubble covering the bottom half of his face.

Darcy shook her head and dropped her phone into her bag. “You smooth sonofabitch,” she said, unable to stop the smile that stretched across her face.

Steve took off his sunglasses and raised his eyebrows. “I was trying to think of something clever to say,” he said as she stepped carefully down the uneven concrete stairs. “But all that’s come to mind is ‘package delivery.’”

He had taken a few steps closer by the time she reached the bottom step. She laughed again and stretched forward to rest her hands on the tops of his broad shoulders. “When did you get back?”

“This afternoon,” he said with a shrug before he reached out and grabbed her. His hands went to her hips and lifted her straight off her feet, pulling a squeal of surprise from her before he crushed her to himself and pressed his lips to hers.

All of the noise on the street, the stress and the worries that had been chasing around her mind for the last month fell silent for a moment. She wrapped her arms tightly around him, relishing in the way it felt like every part of her breathed a sigh of relief. When she pulled away, breathless, he set her back on her feet and pushed her hair out of her eyes.

“I missed you,” he said, tipping his forehead to rest against hers.

Darcy grinned. “I missed you too.” She raised her eyebrows as he laced his fingers at the small of her back. “How about you come back to my place so you can fuck me senseless and then I'll buy you noodles?"

He looked intrigued before he clarified, "In that order?"

"Absolutely in that order."

Steve’s laugh was loud and ungoverned and exactly what Darcy had been hoping to hear as he wrapped an arm around her and steered her over to where he’d parked his motorcycle. “And to think, the experts say the romance fades after a year and a half together.”

“Well,” she scoffed, “those experts obviously aren’t familiar with the Darcy Lewis brand of romance.” Darcy accepted the shiny black helmet he offered her and tilted her head to one side. “Actually, we might have to light some candles,” she said with a grimace. “I don’t know if Jess paid the electric bill. So, that might be kinda romantic,” she added before she pulled the helmet on over her already messy hair

“Oooh,” Steve nodded and mounted the bike. “Pad thai by candlelight,” he reached back and pulled her arms tight around him. “Now you’re talking.”

 

***

 

So she wasn’t dateless. But that didn’t mean she wanted to be there. Steve’s willingness to go to Thursday night’s event had surprised her—he usually hated these things too. But no, he’d insisted. Swatting down her excuses and suggesting with an uncharacteristic optimism that they might even have a good time.

And maybe _he_ was, she considered, because she’d lost track of him somewhere around the third hour of this shindig and had retreated to the corner for a break, figuring he’d find her when he was free from the clutches of the rich old ladies who got a thrill from squeezing his arms.

She was frowning down at her dress again—it was the kind with a neckline that required constant vigilance—when Sam arrived at her table. “I thought I’d find you hiding over here,” he said with a smile.

Darcy looked up and offered a guilty smile. “I’m not hiding,” she lied. “I’m…just…” she absently ran her hand under the table where she’d been for the last thirty minutes, praying for a call-out and trying to blend into the topiary. “Checking for bombs.”

It was unfair of her to be so salty. She knew that. The idea that she was not only on a first name basis with one of the wealthiest men in the world, but that he cared enough about her and the rest of her profession to recognize the wide gap in their funding and want to do something about it was actually pretty incredible. Almost unbelievable. The NYPD had never received the kind of positive attention it had been getting since Stark had gone on Stephen Colbert fifteen months ago and asked if he knew how much the average homicide officer made.

_“Thirty-nine thousand dollars a year,”_ he’d said with that Tony Stark intensity few could rival. _“That’s a slow week for me. That’s a stock trade. That’s nothing and these are the people we trust to protect us. To keep our kids safe and our streets walkable and we treat them like garbage and we don’t pay them enough to live on.”_ This particular clip from the interview had been playing on repeat since the minute it aired. “ _We’re living in the greatest city in the world. All the money that sets up shop in these high-rises and our cops and fire fighters are practically living below the poverty level.”_ He’d shaken his head and said the words that had invited this unprecedented windfall of funding. “ _We’re gonna do better.”_

But while the idea of being even secondhand responsible for attracting the attention of this benefactor was great, the reality involved uncomfortable shoes and dresses that she needed to be sewn into and loaded questions about why she wasn’t drinking and spending a lot of time checking her phone, wondering if anyone would notice if she just went home.

To her relief, Sam didn’t look like he was planning on dragging her back out to mingle, or even asking her to dance. Instead, he laughed and sat down beside her. He raised his eyebrows and grew serious. “Any bombs?”

She shook her head, immediately grateful for his company. “Not at this table.”

He smiled again and sipped his own drink. “I feel much safer having you here.”

She grinned back. “Where’s your date?”

His eyebrows lifted again. “Do I detect a hint of jealousy?” Darcy laughed as he pointed to a small knot of well-dressed guests, crowded around the unmistakable outline of Steve’s shoulders. “I tried to return him to you but—”

Darcy shrugged, good-naturedly. “Everybody wants a piece of the Captain.”

And better him than her, she had decided long ago. Steve had spent considerably more time with this particular crowd. He was better at deflecting personal questions and wasn’t nearly as uncomfortable in formalwear. When she glanced back over, Sam had smiled again. “Did he tell you that you look beautiful?”

She rolled her eyes at his compliment. “I hate this dress,” she commented and wrinkled her nose. “I feel like my cleavage needs its own bodyguard.” Sam barked out a laugh so loud it drew the attention of the neighboring table. Darcy grinned in response, “But to answer your question, yes, he did,” she assured him. “Several times,” she said before adding, “but you’re more than welcome to agree.”

“Well, you do,” he said without a hint of irony before he motioned to her nearly empty glass. “Want another drink?”

She shook her head. “I’m all tonic-d out, I think.” She sighed and shook the last of her ice cubes into her mouth. “I’d kill for one of these things to be held on a night I’m not on call.”

She and Sam both looked up in time to catch Steve glance back in their direction. He gave a subtle beckon with his head that might have looked like a harmless, _‘Come join me’_ invitation to the untrained eye. Darcy grinned back and wiggled her fingers in his direction. She waited for just another moment before his eyes widened just slightly and _‘come join me’_ morphed quickly into _‘Come save me’_.

She sighed. “Poor guy,” she said and got to her feet. “I can’t leave him like that.”

Sam jumped up and put a hand to her shoulder, pressing her back down into her seat. “Allow me,” he said chivalrously before he grinned. “They’re a lot less likely to ask _me_ if there are wedding bells in the future.”

Darcy clapped a hand to her heart. “Now _that_ is a wedding I would go to every day,” she said. “And twice on Fridays.”

Sam laughed was rich and almost a little too loud. “I’m afraid he’s all yours, Lewis. But if that tough girl in vice is single…”

Darcy grinned. “Rodriguez?” she asked and shook her head. “I’ll put in a good word, but fair warning—she’s way more of a badass than you are.”

Sam’s smile widened. “That’s _exactly_ what I’m looking for in a woman,” he said before he turned and wandered over to the cluster of party-goers. She watched as he clapped a hand on Steve’s back and apologized to the group before he motioned with his head for Steve to follow.

She couldn’t help but smile as they made their way back to her corner table and dropped into the two seats to her right. “If it isn’t the belle of the ball.”

“You were right,” Steve let out a sigh and shoved a hand through his hair. “I fucking hate these things,” he said before he offered her a sideways glance a smile. “I’ve been trying to come over here and hide with you for the last twenty minutes.”

“She’s not hiding,” Sam said quickly, flashing his bright grin in her direction. “She was doing a table sweep for explosives.”

Steve frowned. “Really?”

Darcy nodded, wide-eyed. “Oh yeah,” she agreed. “This isn’t a night off for me, you know.”

He chuckled and draped an arm over the back of her chair. His thumb just brushed between her shoulder blades and made her shiver. “Forgive me,” he said with a half-smile. “I misspoke. Any other tables I could help you with?”

She smiled again. “Nah,” she shook her head. “This was the last of them and it’s a good thing too because who knew _sitting_ was so great?” Steve laughed as she continued. “Especially when you’re wearing shoes designed to kill you slowly.”

He glanced down at her feet, strapped into a pair of four-inch torture devices, and frowned for a moment before he scooted his chair closer and patted the edge of his knee. Her smile widened as she tipped herself back in her own chair and shifted so she could drape her legs over his knee and let her feet dangle off the ground. Instantly, the pressure released from her little toes and insteps.

Steve noticed her sigh of relief and rested his other hand on her knees. “Any better?”

She nodded. “A little bit,” she admitted. “But I’m still keeping my fingers crossed for a callout.”

“Please tell me I did not just hear you say what I think you said,” Eddie’s voice drew their attention up from the table as he approached, looking right at home in his fitted black suit and bowtie. On his arm, and outshining just about everyone in the room, was Becca. She was draped in layers of soft, creamy chiffon and had woven little gold pieces into her hair. The contrast made her dark skin look almost luminescent in the golden light. When she sat down on Darcy’s left, the swell of her belly was just visible beneath her dress.

Darcy shook her head. “You’re unbelievable,” she decided out loud. Becca scoffed and rolled her eyes. “I’m serious,” she said. “You’re all goddess-y and pregnant and dancing with everyone and you’re just…” she shook her head again. “You’re putting us all to shame.”

Becca laughed again. “I haven’t had a night out since the last one of these things,” she reminded her with a pointed look in Eddie’s direction. Her hand absently rested on her belly and she sighed. “And any minute now I’m going to look like I swallowed a planet. So, I might as well enjoy it while I still can.”

“How’s Darcy Jr. doing?” Steve asked with a grin, reaching for his abandoned champagne glass.

Becca grinned back. “He/She/They is/are very good. Almost two-thirds of the way to a crispy golden brown.”

“Your pronoun game is on-fucking-point,” Sam commented, matching her grin.

“And just so we’re clear,” Eddie spoke up, dropping into the seat next to Sam, “I’m not naming my baby girl after someone who’s hoping for a murder to get out of a party.”

“I’m not _hoping_ for a murder,” Darcy insisted. “I just…y’know…wouldn’t be upset if there _was_ one and we had to go.”

“I wouldn’t mind some domestic terrorism…” Steve mused mildly. At the looks he received, he continued. “I mean, I’d _mind_ it, obviously. But it’d be a great reason to cut out early. Especially if they’re local.”

Sam shook his head. “Man—”

“Nothing serious!” he cried defensively. “Just…” he moved his shoulders. “Y’know, some harmless explosion with some alien bombs. Nobody gets hurt.”

“I’d be down with some aliens invading,” Darcy said, keeping her tone light and hopeful. Becca laughed again. “Friendly ones, though.”

“Like Thor,” Steve agreed.

“Exactly.”

Eddie looked between them with a web of concern on his face. “You two are disgusting.”

“I’m just tired,” Darcy said with a heavy sigh. “And I suck at being fancy.”

Sam chuckled. “You were hiding it pretty well until a few minutes ago.”

She wrinkled her nose. “I’m just ready to go home and take a shower and finish packing.”

“Oh, that’s right,” Becca looked up from where she’d been digging in her beaded clutch. “When is moving day?” Her eyes slid from Darcy to Eddie, who was shaking his head. “What are you doing?” she asked. “I already told you we’re helping.”

“She has legitimate superheroes saved in her phone,” Eddie insisted, sounding like this was a discussion they had already run through at least once. “She doesn’t need our help.”

“Moving day,” Steve interjected before Darcy could disagree, “is next Sunday.”

“Oooh, next Sunday,” Becca smiled and lifted her eyebrows. “That’s coming up.”

“Yep,” Darcy nodded and willed that familiar twist of nervousness away from her stomach. “Seems like just yesterday we were visiting Every. Last. Apartment in the borough looking for the perfect place.” She punctuated her sentence with a hard look in Steve’s direction.

He didn’t look even slightly apologetic and grinned back at her. “Well we found it, didn’t we?”

If had been up to just her, she would have signed a lease on the first place she could afford. But Steve’s income had allowed them the freedom to be a little more selective which had, at first, seemed like a good thing. Until she realized that Steve was one of the least decisive men in the entire world and his lack of any hard deadlines had drawn out their search for their first place together into a four-month debacle that had only ended when Sam stepped in and firmly reminded him, “You’re not going to find a better place unless you build it and Darcy will absolutely be within her rights to kill you by then.”

Despite how long it had taken, Steve’s exhaustive search had led them to Clinton Hill and six hundred and fifty of the most beautiful square feet Darcy had ever called her own. Hardwood floors, windows that didn’t stick when you tried to open them, a deep bathtub that appeared to have been installed and cleaned more recently than the Bush administration (a claim she could not make for her current bathroom) and—greatest of all—a washer and dryer.

She allowed herself a reluctant smile. “Yes,” she agreed. “You did find us the perfect place.”

“I’ll be the judge of that,” Eddie piped up, shooting her a surly look from his spot next to Sam. “How many stairs are we talking?”

“Eddie,” Becca said, exasperated. “She helped _us_ move.”

“Once,” Eddie reminded. “She helped us move _once_. This will be the third time I’ve hauled her shit around this city, I like to know what I’m getting into.”

“You don’t have to worry about it, Eddie,” Steve said before Darcy could argue. He squeezed her knee gently and hooked her with a look. “I _told you_ I’d make sure the heavy lifting was taken care of.”

“Yeah,” Sam added with a shrug. “We got you.” He smirked. “And we might even get lucky and Thor will be around to lend a hand.”

Becca sat up straighter. “Well if _Thor_ is in this moving party then I am _definitely_ making an appearance.”

Darcy laughed. “You most certainly are not,” she gave her friend’s belly a light tap.

The other woman waved her hand and shook her head. “I won’t carry anything,” she insisted. “I’ll just…help you unpack some boxes and…” she paused and tried unsuccessfully to suppress a grin, “maybe find an excuse to brush up against a fine demigod if he happens to be around.”

“You can brush up against whoever you want—” Steve began with a laugh before Eddie cleared his throat and shook his head with a frown. “But as for the big stuff, we’ve got it all taken care of.”

“See?” Eddie said to Becca, motioning to Steve and Sam. “Legitimate superheroes.”

 “Legitimate superheroes who might get called off to save the world at any minute,” Darcy reminded, returning his pointed look. “Girl’s gotta be prepared or I might end up schlepping all my stuff by myself halfway across the borough.”

Eddie still wasn’t looking impressed. “So Plan B is you and _me_ schlepping all your stuff halfway across the borough?”

She shrugged. “You’re my only friend.”

He shifted his gaze back to Steve. “Please don’t be saving the world next Sunday.”

Steve started laughing just as the phone in Darcy’s dress started to vibrate. She swiveled to set her feet back on the ground as she reached abruptly into her cleavage.

“ _Ladylike_ ,” Eddie commented around a scoff as he reached for his own buzzing phone.

Darcy flipped him off and tapped to open her newest text message. “Yes!” she exclaimed, pumping a fist in the air. “Dead body on the subway. _Yes_!”

“Tone it down, you monster,” Eddie warned and tucked his phone away. He looked up at Becca. “I’m sorry, baby.”

She waved his apology away. “Go do what you’ve gotta do. I’m good.”

He quirked an eyebrow while Darcy winced and got to her feet. “You want us to drop you off?”

“I can make sure she gets home,” Steve promised, shooting Becca a smile.

“Hey,” Darcy pointed a finger in Steve’s face. “Don’t be making a move on my girlfriend,” she warned. “I’ll find out about it.”

His smile doubled and he reached out to pull her in for a kiss. “Be safe,” he said squeezing her hand.

“I promise,” she said and dropped her lips to his briefly. “If Tony asks, this was lovely,” she motioned to the party. “And we’re super grateful.”

“I’ll say all the nice things,” Steve squeezed her hand again. “Go catch a bad guy.”

 

***

 

“What the fuck, you two?” Sergeant Nowicki was waiting for them at the bottom of the concrete stairs, his arms crossed over his barrel chest, a thick dark eyebrow raised in confusion.

Darcy ducked under the yellow tape and held it for Eddie to follow. “What? I told you we were uptown.”

Nowicki looked from one to the other and shook his head with a laugh. “You could’a changed,” he said. “Not sure this guy could get any deader.”

“Nah, it’s cool Sarge,” Eddie unbuttoned his jacket with a grin.

“Kimball actually wouldn’t _let_ us change,” she said with a roll of her eyes. “So, don’t blame me.”

Nowicki laughed as Eddie pointed to himself and then to Darcy. “James Bond and Pussy Galore, reporting for duty.”

She gasped. “Gross. I am _not_ the Pussy Galore of this relationship.”

“Fine, who do you want? Honey Ryder? Plenty O’Toole?”

“As entertaining as this is,” Nowicki interrupted, shaking his head. “How about the two of you focus on our actual scene and work out your role playing later.”

"If anything, it’s cosplay,” Eddie muttered under his breath.    

“Our lady,” Nowicki said, moving on with heavy emphasis, “over here,” he motioned to a tearful Middle-Eastern woman in a blue business suit, talking to a uniform, “found our vic on her way home.”

Darcy’s eyes traveled away from the shaken woman to the dead body still sitting propped against the wall in a pool of nearly-black blood. The medical examiner and forensic unit were taking photos; when one of them moved, Darcy could see the handle of a knife protruding from his thigh.

“Yikes,” she muttered. “How long do they think he’s been there?”

Nowicki shrugged. “Go talk to the ME and find out. I’d say at least a couple hours.”

“Ugh,” Eddie shook his head. “And how many people just walked right past, you think?” he shuddered. “Welcome to New York.”

Nowicki wandered off to have a word with the forensics team as Darcy shifted from one foot to the other, wiggling her toes. “Whatcha thinking?” she asked, catching the contemplative look that had just crossed over her partner’s face.

He glanced back in her direction. “That the only other Bond girl that’s coming to mind is Holly Goodhead.”

“Eddie I swear to God—”

“However,” Eddie continued, loosening his tie and unbuttoning the top button of his starched shirt. “When you think about it, America is really more of a girl’s name and as far as code names for a sidekick go, _Captain America_ is pretty great—”

She blinked. “Are you really suggesting that my boyfriend play the femme fatale in your Bond fantasy?”

He looked unapologetic. “I believe he would the _homme_ fatale, you uncultured swine.”

The sigh she let out felt like it had started in the depths of her very soul. “What do you want?” Darcy asked. “Witness statements or check in with the ME?”

“Give me the witnesses,” Eddie said decisively. “I can’t imagine how the smell of decomposing homeless guy is going to mix with the fresh coat of piss that’s all over everything in this tunnel.” He sighed and shook his head. “And to think, you couldn’t wait to leave our swanky party with the five-star catering and open bar.”

Darcy offered him a toothless smile. “Believe it or not, Kimball, I’m infinitely more comfortable in a piss-reeking sewer, looking at a dead body than I am at a Tony Stark fundraiser.”

Her partner bowed and motioned broadly to the corpse. “By all means, m’lady.”

The rest of the night was pretty typical by her standards. They wrapped up the scene over the next few hours and headed back to the station to begin the writing up and filing of the excessive amount of paperwork that came with every dead body in Brooklyn.

It was almost four am by the time she shuffled out of her cab and winced up the stairs. She paused on the first landing and sat down, her shoulders sagging with relief when she finally freed her throbbing feet. She made her way carefully up the rest of her stairs and let herself in to her apartment, willing herself not to even look at the state of the living room on her way to her bed.

She looked anyway, of course, because it was impossible not to. She and Jessica were both moving out by the end of the month and their once comfortably cluttered apartment had become a maze of half-packed boxes around a minefield of rolls of packing tape and bubble wrap. Darcy shoved the enormity of all the things still on her to-do list to the back of her mind and hobbled back down the hall.

She should have been exhausted, all things considered. But her mind was still clicking through the scene they’d just worked, shuffling through the paperwork and making notes on which aspects required follow-up and what could be left alone for now. She threw her shoes into the closet and unzipped her dress, letting it fall into an unpleasant smelling heap in front of her laundry basket.

Darcy dropped to her bed in her underwear and rested her back against the wall while she pulled the covers up around her and turned on the television. She flipped open her laptop and set up a pick-up time for the couch and armchair they were donating to Goodwill, signed in to her account with USPS and submitted her address change, and responded to a bunch of emails and social media interactions while the wee hours of the morning ticked past amid a slew of infomercials and reruns of _Sanford & Son_.

It wasn’t until just after eight, as she was sealing a box of books with a fat strip of packing tape, that her phone began ringing. She picked it up from her bedside table and sighed. “Yes, Eddie,” she said, continuing their conversation from the cab as she pressed the accept button and placed the phone to her ear. “The world _is_ ready for a black Bond and it should definitely be you and not Idris Elba.”

“That’s sweet, Lewis,” Eddie said without missing a beat. “But not why I called. Turn the tv on.”

Confused she picked up her remote. “What channel?”

“Put on the news.”

Dread coiling in her chest, Darcy dutifully switched the channels and watched as an early morning verdict was read in the Jared Griffin trial.

 

***

 

Joanie, the owner of his favorite bakery was an ex-pat who’d grown up in Newark and still subscribed to the _Times_. Joanie was a sweet, middle-aged woman who cut him a break on the day-olds and didn’t have a problem passing on her papers once she’d read them—usually she just left them in a neat little stack on the end of the bar for anyone who wanted a look.

The headline jumped out at him that morning when he stopped in for a cup of coffee.

_BROOKLYN’S BRIGHTEST STAR FOUND GUILTY OF FIRST DEGREE MURDER_

His blood ran cold as he sat and read each word carefully, making sure he understood exactly what had transpired.

A hand on his shoulder made him jump and the older woman met his jolt with a sympathetic smile as she held up the coffee pot. “Pretty crazy,” she said, pointing the story in which he’d been so engrossed. “Huh?”

He let out the breath he’d been holding and nodded. “Pretty crazy,” he echoed. He waited until she refilled his cup before he swallowed and placed his hand on the paper. “Do you mind if I…”

Joanie waved him off. “Course not, honey. Help yourself.”

The article on Griffin’s verdict looked right at home with the board he’d been building over the last six months. He stepped back and studied the newspaper clippings and things he’d printed out. Photos, obituaries, notes and theories he’d scribbled into the margins of purchase orders and invoices.

The weight that he usually carried in the back of his throat had sunk slowly into the pit of his stomach the longer he stood staring at his wall, connecting the dots and sliding pieces into place.

Joanie was wrong.

What was happening in New York wasn’t crazy at all.

It was calculated.

Deliberate.

Deadly.

And if he was right, he was the only one who could stop it.


	2. Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everything's just a little bit worse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaand we're off. For those hoping I was going to spend a lot of time with Steve and Darcy being cute and in love, I'm sorry to disappoint. I've got shit to do with this fic and while I love a good pile of fluff as much as the next girl, this isn't the place for it. Ye be warned.
> 
> To those friends who have already commented and kudo'd and subscribed? You're just the kitties pajamas. Thank you! *kisses*

 

                 “Are you okay?”

                Jane’s voice pulled Darcy’s attention up from the swirling designs of the foam in her mocha. “Hmm?” she blinked for a moment before she registered what Jane had asked. “Sorry,” she covered her face with her free hand and shook her head. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

                A wrinkle of concern appeared between Jane’s eyebrows. “No, you’re not,” she said after a brief analysis. “What’s going on?” Darcy shifted uncomfortably for a minute before Jane continued. “Is it work or Steve?”

                Jane was right, of course, because among other things, Jane was incredibly observant. The summer had crashed quickly and with a belch of smoke and flames. The riots over Jared Griffin had erupted just like everyone thought they would. With teargas and warning shots and everyone feeling like they were walking around with a target on their back. There’d been talk of the National Guard being called in after the third day of the crowds breeching the barracks at the jail and lobbing bricks and smoke bombs at the riot crews.

                The crowds had begun to shrink in size by the time the rumors began to circulate about the feds being called in, but the specter of Griffin still hung over the precinct. It was keeping everyone from being able to exhale the breath they’d been holding all summer.

                On top of that, her insomnia had started to drop hints that it might be missing her and that it wanted to get back together. Although, she considered, that could be the result of a lot of different things.

                Darcy let out a heavy sigh. “Both, I guess,” she admitted and took a sip of her coffee. “Mostly Steve.”

                It was mostly Steve that was keeping her up at night and _not_ in a good way. Mostly Steve that was twisting her stomach just the tiniest bit, making her wonder if she should be more or less concerned than she was.

                “Uh-oh,” Jane hitched her purse back onto her shoulder and rerouted herself to the empty barstools facing the large window at the front of the café. “Sit,” she commanded, pointing to the stool next to her. “Talk. Tell me what’s wrong.”

                She let another resigned sigh escape her lips as she pulled herself up onto the stool beside Jane. “I’m probably overreacting.”

                “Who cares?” Jane shrugged a narrow shoulder. “Tell me anyway.”

                “He’s acting weird,” she said, feeling her lips twist into a frown.

                Jane lifted a single eyebrow. “Weird like…you didn’t think it was going to be this hard to live together-weird? Or…weird like…you should be worried-weird?”

                “The second one,” she tilted her head thoughtfully to one side and frowned. “I think. I mean.  I don’t know.”

                Darcy knew she was being vague, but it was the best she could come up with. The shift in Steve’s behavior was almost imperceptible and, in fact, if they’d hadn’t been living together for two and a half weeks before he’d been called away, she doubted she would have noticed anything different about him at all. She didn’t think it was the change in their living situation—the move had gone as smoothly as any of them could have hoped and they’d only argued about silly things since paying their first month’s rent. Where and how the dishes were going to be stacked in the kitchen cabinets. Whether the garbage can had to be kept under the sink or by the refrigerator. How many different types of shampoo and condition Darcy actually needed to tame her hair. Stupid things. _Cute fights_ , her mother had called them, when she’d called to request her daughter’s new address.

                All perfectly normal.

                And then, ten days ago and equally normal, Steve, Natasha and Sam had left for a quick mission to Montreal to gather intel. Not even a job worth involving the whole team, he’d assured her when he’d kissed her goodbye that morning. He’d be back in no time.

                And he was.  He was back in three days. He was just…different.

                “So what happened in Montreal?” Jane asked, taking a cautious sip of her tea. She’d listened with her usual calm interest, in that way that Darcy could tell when she was logging important facts or making mental notes.

                “According to him,” she shrugged, “nothing. Or, at least, nothing he could talk about.”

                Jane’s eyes narrowed. “Well there’s a big difference between those two things.”

                “Yeah, but this doesn’t…” she stopped herself and frowned again. “I don’t know.” She shook her head. “He’s come back from missions he’s not allowed to talk about before.”

                “Did you guys have a fight?” her former boss asked, turning her stool to face her fully.

                 “No, that’s just it.” Darcy rolled her eyes. “There’s nothing to fight about. He’s just…” she blew another frustrated breath through pursed lips and absently swiped a dollop of foamed milk from the side of her cup. “Preoccupied,” she said, deciding on the word. “And a little cold.”

                Quick kisses. Long hours uptown at the tower. Short answers. A tendency to zone out.

                When she looked up, Jane had turned pensive again. “You’re formulating,” Darcy assessed, taking another sip of her coffee. “What are you formulating?”

                Jane opened her mouth to respond and then closed it again. “It’s entirely possible that whatever it was, he just can’t talk about it,” she said after another moment of thoughtful contemplation. “Have you talked to Sam or Natasha? Anything weird with them?”

                She shook her head.  “I don’t really have a reason to check in with them,” she said. “And if Steve can’t talk about it then they won’t either.” She sighed for the fourth time in only a few minutes. “Forget it,” she waved a hand as if pushing her words away from between them. “I’m sure it’ll all blow over soon.”

                Jane didn’t look quite so convinced. “Okay…” she said, giving Darcy a side-eye. “If you’re sure.”

                “I am,” Darcy said and gave an affirmative nod. “But in that vein, thank you for coming to look for a couch with me.” She offered her former boss a quick smile. “I really didn’t want to go by myself.”

                Jane mirrored her nod. “Explain to me again how you and Steve moved in together without any furniture?”

                She grimaced. “That’s my fault.”

                “Unsurprising,” Jane commented, flashing her a quick grin before she pressed her cup to her lips again.

                “And we have _some_ furniture,” she said defensively. “Just…y’know. Not a lot of it.” Jane raised her eyebrows, intrigued, so she continued. “Look, my stuff is all shit so I donated it before we moved in but I didn’t realize that almost everything Steve has was basically courtesy of the Stark Family Foundation and—forgive me for looking a gift horse in the mouth, here—but I’m kind of sick of living as a Tony Stark charity case.” She frowned, remembering that blonde reporter and too-white teeth. “I get enough questions as it is.”

                Jane looked amused. “So where have you been sitting?”

                She shrugged. “On the floor, mostly. Or the bed.”

                The scientist wrinkled her nose. “You’ve been eating in bed?”

                “Oh, no,” Darcy shook her head quickly. “No, Mr. Army inspection can’t handle that,” Jane snorted. “We have a little countertop with some stools, so that’s helpful.”

                “Your place sounds really nice,” Jane said sincerely. “I can’t wait to see it.”

                Darcy grimaced again. “And you will, I promise. Just…maybe wait until I figure out what’s going on with Steve first? Then…once everything’s back to normal we’ll have everybody over and you can bring me a cactus.”

                There went that one eyebrow again. “Does it have to be a cactus?”

                She bounced her shoulder. “I can’t promise I won’t kill any other kind of housewarming plant you might come up with.”

                Jane nodded. “I’ll probably just get you a vase or something.”

                She grinned. “Smart.”

                “What about work?” Jane asked with a swift change of topic. “What’s going on with that? I haven’t heard about any protests on the news.”

                Darcy’s grin faded. “They stopped covering them unless somebody gets hurt,” she grumbled before she amended her statement. “I mean, they’ve slowed down a lot since the trial’s been over but everyone’s still on edge and…” she shrugged. “But it’s not really even _over_ yet because he hasn’t been sentenced and once that happens they’re just going to start up again.”

                Jane’s delicate features cemented in concern. “Just…” she pursed her lips. “I know I’m not in charge of you anymore and you’re a professional and you don’t need me to say this—”

Darcy reached her hand out and covered Jane’s, curling her fingers around her palm. “I promise,” she said sincerely. “I am being as safe as I can be.”

                “I know,” Jane said and flipped her hand to squeeze Darcy’s. “I just worry.”

                She smiled. “I appreciate that.” They were quiet for a moment before she cleared her throat. “Are we going to talk about Sweden?”

                “Sure,” Jane shrugged. “It was amazing and phenomenal and there’s no way I’m ever going to win,” she said conversationally of her Nobel prize nomination. “But—and I honestly never thought I’d say this—it turns out it really is just an honor to be nominated.”

                Darcy rolled her eyes. “You don’t know that. They won’t make the announcements until…” she scrunched her nose in thought. “When?”

                “End of October,” Jane said, sounding skeptical.

                “Exactly,” Darcy checked her phone. “So you’ve got like…six and a half weeks of writhing in self-doubt and mentally degrading yourself.” She offered a cheery smile and picked up her coffee again. “Cheers to that!”

                With a laugh and a shake of her head, Jane tapped her cup to Darcy’s and took a long sip. “So what’s good in your new neighborhood?”

                “Oooh, there’s this bakery right down the street,” she pointed west of the coffee shop with glittering eyes. “They make the best cannoli in the _world_.  We should go.”

                “Cannoli at ten in the morning?” Jane checked the watch on her slim wrist. “Breakfast of champions, Darce.” Still, she followed the lead and gathered up her purse and light jacket.

                Darcy scoffed. “Says the woman who has subsisted off nothing but cold cereal for three weeks at a time.”

                “I claimed to be a lot of things,” Jane reminded, shrugging into her coat. “A role model was never one of them.”

                “Well, you managed to be one anyway,” Darcy said, shooting her a genuine smile before she held open the café door and motioned for Jane to go first.

 

 

 

                “Hey, I bought a couch and some chairs,” Darcy called hours later as she pushed open the door and hung her purse on the hooks Steve had installed. “Hope you like ‘em.” She waited for a minute before she continued. “Jane got us a deal with the teenager who sold them to us,” she said with a smile. “She promised this kid Thor would stop down and let him try to lift the hammer.”

                Her words were met with silence. She frowned and made her way to the kitchen where she found a note that read, _At the tower; I’ll try to be home for dinner._ _❤ ,  Steve._

                But Steve wasn’t home for dinner and she tried telling herself it didn’t bother her for most the rest of the night.

                Maybe Jane’s off-handed comment was right. Maybe she didn’t realize that living with someone would make dealing with them so much more intense. That she’d constantly be aware of Steve’s mood because it now directly impacted her own, whether or not either of them had ever intended for that to be the case.

                She reheated the rest of the pulled pork she’d made the night before and sat on the floor of their bedroom while she ate, forcing herself to focus on the plot of _American Gods_. It almost worked. For at least one hour she was able to put Steve’s behavior and Jane’s Nobel Prize nomination and Jared Griffin’s conviction and Brooklyn’s string of unending protests out of her mind.

                But only for an hour.

                She’d just fallen asleep when she heard the familiar jingle of keys in the door. It was only a few minutes later that the bedroom door squeaked open and Steve’s side of the bed dipped with his weight as he slid under the covers next to her.

                Darcy held her breath, listening to him shift and move to get comfortable in the darkness. Since he’d been back from Montreal, he’d been just a little colder. A little more distant. For someone who’d always hated snuggling before, Darcy had found herself missing even the few nights he’d gone without curling himself around her and pulling her close.

Steve slipped an arm under her pillow and shuffled to her side of the bed. He draped his other arm over her waist and tucked his knees behind hers. She felt the weight in her stomach relax the longer they lay like that. She breathed a small sigh of relief at the kiss he pressed against her cheek. “You ate all the leftovers,” he said softly, making her smile in the dark before she flipped onto her back to look up at him.

                “I’m not sorry,” she said, pleased when he smiled back. “You were supposed to be home for dinner.”

                For a second, she regretted bringing that up. His smile tinged briefly with that anxiety he’d been carrying around. “I know,” he said, keeping his hand splayed on her stomach for a moment before he reached up and pushed a lock of her hair behind her ear. “I’m sorry.” There was no further explanation. She realized she wasn’t waiting for one.

                Darcy reached up and ran her thumb over the lines on his forehead, smoothing them away with a few swipes while Steve’s face relaxed. She stared at him for a while longer, studying the way the moonlight through the window cast shadows of his eyelashes, the dip of his top lip. She let her hand trail from his forehead to the back of his head, scratching her nails gently against his hair. Her teeth pressed into her bottom lip for a moment before she swallowed and broke the silence. “Is everything okay?” she asked, hating how small her voice was, how uncertain she sounded.

                A conflicted look crossed Steve’s face for a moment; concern, sadness, and a hint of regret mixed together before melting into one of soft determination. He leaned down and covered her lips with his. A soft, slow kiss that warmed her belly and made her curl her fingers against the back of his head. His eyes were darker when he pulled away and brushed his nose against hers. “It will be,” he said, his voice just above a whisper, before he leaned in and kissed her again.

                This, Darcy realized, is what she’d been waiting for. A sign that his preoccupation, his distance over the last week wasn’t about them. That they were okay and that he wanted things to go back to normal just as much as she did. And while his answer was far from perfect, it did enough to settle her noisy thoughts for the time being. The worry that had been twisting her gut since he’d returned from his mission settled briefly as he pulled back and smiled down at her. “Did you find a couch today?” he asked, not protesting when she rolled back over to face the window and pulled his arms tight around her.

                She nodded and accepted the change in topic, closing her eyes when he started playing with the ends of her hair. “And two chairs.”

                “We’re gonna have so much stuff to sit on,” he commented mildly. “What do they look like?”

                Her shoulder moved in a half-shrug. “Brown. Leather. They’re boring, but they’ll probably go with everything.”

                He exhaled a chuckle and kissed her cheek. “I’m sorry you went by yourself.”

                “Jane tagged along,” Darcy said around a yawn. “But whatever we need next, you’re up to bat.”

                She heard him smile again as he pressed another kiss to her cheek. “Deal,” he said. “Get some sleep.”

                Darcy drifted off quickly, feeling better than she had in days.

 

***

 

                The bullpen was buzzing with activity. Darcy would have said more than usual if bordering-on-the-edge-of-overwhelmed hadn’t become the norm recently.

                “Lewis, you have those witness statements from the 3rd Avenue stabbing?” Detective DeSimone asked, not looking up as he past her desk the next afternoon.

                “Already on your desk,” she said, watching as he gave a distracted wave of acknowledgement over his shoulder. She rolled her eyes. “Thanks, Lewis,” she said with a poor imitation of his heavy Brooklyn accent. “You’re a real asset to the team. If it weren’t for you and Kimball, we’d never solve anything around here.” Across their shared space, Eddie had not looked up from whatever was holding his attention in front of his keyboard. “I know,” she said with a huff. “I’m just being whiney. I’ll shut up.”

                “Okay,” Eddie said before his lips twisted in concentration.

                “Just remind me to be a little more appreciative of the grunts when we’re finally out of this limbo hell and have our own shields.”

                “Sure,” he said with a distracted nod.

                Darcy sighed. “Okay, man, what the fuck are you doing?”

                “Agreeable Gray or African Violet?”

                She blinked. She opened her mouth to respond and closed it again before she decided on an answer. “May I have it used in a sentence?”

                Eddie let out a heavy sigh and held up two paint swatches. One in shades of creamy gray and the other with shades of soft blue. “Pick one,” he demanded, dropping his face onto the heel of his hand.

                She frowned. “Why?”

                Another sigh. “Becca’s making me pick paint colors for the baby’s room and neither of us think pink is a good idea and she wants yellow, but I read that yellow breeds anxiety and I’ve been trying to narrow it down since the weekend—” he stopped and covered his face at the sight of the smile Darcy was desperately trying to smother between her lips. “And I’m hemorrhaging man points here, aren’t I?”

                The laugh she’d been trying to stifle escaped her nose in a snort. “Like you had so many to gamble with anyway,” she commented, shaking her head.

                “Shut up, Lewis,” he grumbled and opened the top drawer of his desk. “Forget I said anything.”

                “Oh, c’mon,” she cried. “Let me see them again?” Still glaring, Eddie held up the two swatches. She furrowed her brow with contemplation. “I gotta go with Agreeable Gray.”

                He shook his head. “I think you’re wrong.”

                She considered this. “Well, bearing in mind that I gave you my _opinion_ , I think that’s a fairly bullshit response.”

                “You can’t paint a baby’s room _gray_ ,” he said emphatically. “It’ll look like a prison cell!”

                She rolled her eyes a second time. “Okay, fine,” she shrugged. “Then go with the other one.”

                Before Eddie could respond with some new argument against African Violet, their phone rang and he picked it up. “Kimball,” he said, shoving the swatches back into his desk drawer. His face contorted in confusion. “Um…hang on.” He put it on hold and set the receiver beside the base. “There’s a guy downstairs who needs to talk to you.”

                She quirked an eyebrow. “Regarding?”

                Eddie shrugged before his eyes fell to the clock. “It’s the new girl—what’s her name? Night Shift Kristina. Talk to her.”

                Darcy sighed. “I think her name is June and we should both definitely know that by now.” She swiped up the receiver and pressed the button beside the flashing red light. “This is Lewis,” she said, switching into business mode. “What’s up?”

                “Someone here to see you,” June’s voice was less buoyant than her day-shift counterpart, but was no less friendly. “He said he needs to speak with you directly.”

                She fought the urge to groan. It was already almost seven, inching her workday closer to the thirteen-hour mark. “Regarding what case?”

                There was a pause and a muffled conversation before June was back. “He said it’s complicated, but that he has information he needs to share.”

                Darcy took a deep breath and rubbed at her eyes with her free hand. “I need a name and a case number if you can pull it up based on what he’s told you so far.”

                Another pause.

                “He said his name is James Barnes,” June said, unaware that she’d made Darcy almost drop the phone. “And he’ll only talk to you.”


	3. Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A tale of two captains.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I uploaded this on my phone because of a wonky at-home connection, so the formatting might be a little bit off?
> 
> Anyway, I hope you enjoy this next snippet and once again, big thanks to Amerna for holding my hand and talking me through all the tension.

If nothing else, Darcy decided later, they could all be applauded for staying calm.  In the last thirty minutes, the pulse of the precinct had remained unnervingly steady while her own had sped up to an erratic thrumming she could feel in her ears.

He was nothing like she’d remembered. The  _deus-ex-machina_  who’d saved her life in a burst of violence and disappeared before she could even be sure she’d seen him. That man was a smudge in her memory. Dark hair and dangerous eyes and movements of deadly precision.

The man sitting across from her in Interrogation Room 3 was quiet, courteous, and appearing to be on his best behavior. He smiled briefly when she’d entered the room. It was a polite smile; almost apologetic. The kind you would use if you wanted to put the other person at ease.

She set her steno pad down on the table and swallowed hard, wincing as the chair gave a crunching metal scrape against the floor when she pulled it out to sit down. Despite how politely he’d requested an audience with her downstairs, she had not been the first officer to enter the room to talk to him. Driscoll had gone first—coming down on his night off and bringing Nowicki with him following protocol. They’d only spent a few minutes with him while Darcy and Eddie waited tensely by the door.

“You’re up, rookie,” Driscoll had said, clapping her on the shoulder as he shook his head. “Said he’s not going to talk to anyone but you.”

She had looked up with apprehension. “Did he say what he wants to talk about?” she asked, before her brow furrowed. “And seriously, ‘rookie’? Come on.”

Her lieutenant had scoffed. “Trust me, Lewis, you’re gonna feel like a rookie after thirty seconds with that guy.” He shook his head again. “I’m sittin’ on thirty years and I’ve got goosebumps.”

She sat down across from him and ran her tongue nervously over her lips before she pressed them together and cleared her throat.  “Um, hi,” she said, willing her eyes to stay on his and not drift over his shoulder and down to the silver fingers on the table. He was dressed casually—a black t-shirt and pants with a loose-fitting denim jacket that covered him to the wrists. He looked better than the last time they’d med—the tangles combed from his hair, the shadows gone from beneath his eyes.

He offered another polite smile. “Hello.” Their voices felt almost too loud in this confined space.

She coughed again. “Did they—um—did they offer you some coffee or a bottle of water?”

He nodded. “I’m fine, thank you,” he said. “But I can wait if you want to get something.”

She shook her head. “Uh, no,” she swallowed again. “I’m good.” They were quiet for another moment before she grabbed her pen and pressed it to the paper. “Is it—” she stopped herself and pursed her lips again. “Steve always calls you Bucky,” she admitted, glancing down at the blank page before she looked up again. “Is that—do you go by James now?”

He shook his head, another half-smile. “Bucky’s fine.”

She nodded. “Okay, then, Bucky.” It felt strange to be using his name in direct address after only hearing it in the past tense. Like talking to a dead man. She clenched her jaw, feeling guilty for that train of thought and forced a polite smile to mirror his. “It’s nice to meet you,” she said and considered extending her hand for a handshake, but decided against it before she could uncurl her fingers from around the pen. “I’ve…heard a lot about you.”

“All good things, I’m sure,” he said with the edge of a genuine smile in his voice.

Darcy looked up, taken aback by the comment for a moment before it occurred to her that he was actually trying to make a joke. She raised her eyebrows, wishing she could discreetly wipe her the sweat from her palms and find a way to calm down. “Something like that,” she said, settling on a nondescript answer.

She’d almost let herself relax enough to remember that he had information for her when he shifted and scraped his chair against the floor.

She flinched.

Without permission, her mind conjured the memory of the two men he’d killed for her. The way their necks had been broken so completely their heads were almost twisted off. She told herself she was flinching at the memory and everything attached to it. That it wasn’t because he’d just moved his left hand. That she could tell the difference between the man and the weapon he’d become.

But she wasn’t so sure.

When she looked up again, a few new lines of concern had folded on Bucky’s forehead. The corners of his mouth turned down a in a brief look of sympathy. He cleared his throat. “Would you be more comfortable if I was in handcuffs?”

Darcy blinked, surprised at the offer. Her eyes shifted to the double-sided mirror and she forced herself to steady. “Just keep your hands on the table, please,” she said and watched as he folded his fingers neatly in front of him. She gave him a quick, courteous smile. “Thank you.”

They were quiet for another few moments before she coughed. “You told my lieutenant that you have information to share,” she reminded him.

He nodded. “That’s right.”

She raised her eyebrows. “Why did you want to share it with me?”

The corner of Bucky’s lips twitched into a half-smile again. “We have a few things in common.”

“Yeah,” it was her turn to nod. “I guess we do.”

“Aside from that,” he continued, “I know you’re a good cop. And I know you’ll know what to do with the intel I have.”

“Thank you,” she said. “But I’m warning you right now, if something has to be run up the chain of command, I can’t not do it; you understand? There’s a good chance that—no matter what you tell me—I’m going to have to get my COs involved.”

He nodded again. “I understand. In fact, that’s exactly what I thought you’d say.” He moved his head to clear a stray piece of hair that had fallen into his face. “Regardless, I wanted to bring what I have to  _you,_  specifically, because I know how crazy it’s going to sound. And I guess I wanted to go to someone I knew to be trustworthy.”

She inhaled through her nose and clicked her pen into action again. “Hit me.”

“It’s about Jared Griffin.” Darcy kept her eyes on his, waiting for him to continue. “For one thing, he’s innocent.”

She sighed. “Oh boy.”

“The murder was a set-up.”

“What makes you say that?”

He took a breath in. “The perfection of the crime, among other things. The lack of motive. Griffin’s career and his political aspirations.” Bucky paused and studied her. “You don’t believe me?”

“Bucky, I really hope you didn’t risk your whole life to get here to tell me you’re a Griffin conspiracy theorist,” she rubbed at her eyes again. “At this point, we all know he’s guilty. And even if we didn’t think so, a jury of his peers just decided that he is. And regardless of all of  _that_ , our hands are tied until sentencing.” She stopped herself and swallowed back the urge to dismiss anything else he wanted to say. “You said ‘for one thing’,” she said. “What else?”

Bucky contemplated for a long moment before he spoke again. “This is the part that’s going to sound crazy.”

The door to the interrogation room swung open and Bucky fell silent. Nowicki’s hand remained clutched around the doorknob, he looked uncharacteristically tense. “Lewis, you gotta put this on hold.”

She frowned in confusion. “Excuse me?’

“Rogers just walked in.”

Her brow stayed knit. “Who called him?”

Nowicki looked taken aback. “I assumed you did.”

She shook her head. “No…” she had considered it. While she was waiting for Driscoll and Nowicki to take their first pass at Bucky. It had been Eddie’s suggestion that she figure out what their informant was doing here before she got Steve involved. “No, I hadn’t gotten that far.” She felt guilty for a minute, hoping they’d keep him out front so she could find a way to ease him into this news.

In her rush to get up, Darcy almost missed the way Bucky had muttered, “Fuck,” under his breath at the exact same time she did.

Almost.

She stopped and looked at him. “Don’t worry,” she said, her heart speeding up again as the feeling of being frazzled and overwhelmed bubbled back to the surface. “This’ll just take a minute.”

“No,” Bucky shook his head. “No, it’s not that. It’s just…” He pushed back his hair again. “He’s gonna be so pissed.”

She almost laughed. “I’m pretty sure the excessive joy of having you in the same room is going to override anything he might be mad about.”

Bucky looked confused. “No…I…” he shifted in his chair. “I told him I’d wait to talk to you until he…”

Darcy could tell she wasn’t doing anything inviting with her expression by the way he trailed off. “I’m sorry,” a hand came to rest on the back of her chair as she tilted her head to one side. “You  _told_ him you’d wait to talk to me?” she repeated. “ _When_ exactly did  tell him that?”

He shrugged. “When I found him in Montreal,” he said as if it were obvious. “I told him I needed to talk to you and he told me to…” Bucky’s eyes swept over her face and took in the rest of her body language for a quick moment before he dropped his head into his hand and rubbed his temples. “Steve, you dumb shit,” he muttered under his breath.

“Lewis,” Nowicki barked from the doorway. “One fire at a time,” he said and jerked his head back toward the hallway. “I’ll stay.”

She clenched her jaw and left the room. Eddie and Driscoll had vacated the hallway and she could hear the rise and fall of familiar voices coming from the bullpen. Her pulse hammered under her jaw and she stopped just before turning out of the hall to force herself to take a deep breath in and let it out before she immediately went on the attack. She played Bucky’s words over again in her mind, trying to form some kind of theory that didn’t involve Steve lying to her.

But Steve had not come to the precinct alone. Sam stood next to him, arms crossed over his chest while they listened to her colleagues. She squared her jaw and approached the quartet. Steve noticed her first; his expression dropped almost instantly as his eyes widened. Her heart sank as any hope she had of this being a misunderstanding—of Bucky having misspoke and Steve being just as surprised as she was—disappeared. Driscoll followed his gaze over his own shoulder and turned around, raising an eyebrow in Darcy’s direction. “You get anything out of him?” he asked, not naming names.

“No,” she shook her head and crossed her arms tightly in front of her. “I was interrupted.”  Her eyes shot to Steve’s. “I need to talk to you,” she said tightly before she glanced at the others. “Would you excuse us, please?”

“Kitchen’s empty,” Eddie offered, flicking his gaze between them.

She waited until they reached the small kitchen before she turned back to face Steve. She sucked in another inhale and crossed her arms again. “What are you doing here?” she asked in as calm and steady a voice as she could manage.

Steve took a deep breath in and let it out slowly as he rested one hand on the kitchen counter and raised his eyes to hers. “You know what I’m doing here, Darcy.”

She looked down as she nodded and pinched the bridge of her nose. “I can’t believe you.”

“It’s complicated—”

“No, it isn’t,” she snapped, dropping her hand. “It’s  _ridiculously_ simple. You lied to me.”

“I didn’t—”

“You’ve been lying to me for I don’t know how long,” she scoffed and shook her head. “I mean, Jesus Christ, Steve. How stupid do you think I am? How long did you think you could keep this a secret?”

He sighed. “I wasn’t  _planning_ on keeping it from you.”

“It just worked out like that? Every day since you got back from your last mission? Every single time we’ve been together in the last nine days?” She made a sound of disgust and pushed her hair back. He opened his mouth to object, but she continued. “You know, I’ve been driving myself crazy trying to figure out what’s going on with you but this?” she motioned in the direction of the interrogation rooms. “I mean—”

“Darcy—”

“This is only, what?” she asked as if he hadn’t interrupted. “The  _most_  important thing that’s happened to you in the last ten years—maybe ever—and you can’t think of a  _single person_  you might be sharing an apartment and a life with who might want to know about it before he comes walking into  _my_ precinct and drags me into God only knows what with some conspiracy about Jared Griffin and—”

“Jesus Christ, are you going to let me talk?” Steve pushed away from the counter and stood at his full height. Darcy stopped her rant for a moment and looked up, surprised. “What do you want me to say, Darcy?” he asked, taking advantage of her momentary silence. “That I hate that I kept this from you? That I’ve been trying to find a way to tell you since I got back? That this is the last thing I was thinking we were going to have to deal with and I’ve been trying to wrap my mind around it ever since he found me in Montreal?”

“Any of those would be  _great_ place to start,” she said with only a hint of irony. “Were you  _ever_ planning on telling me?”

He looked hurt. “Of course I was.”

“Oh really,” she said, not softening at the expression her flippant tone had caused. “When?”

He let out a sound of aggravation. “When I figured out how—”

“Well, have you figured it out yet?” she asked, crossing her arms over her chest for the third time. “When did this happen? And how did you even find him?” she stopped her line of questioning. “Was there even a mission in the first place? Or did you just make something up to go and get him?”

It was Steve’s turn to scoff. “Come on, that’s not fair.”

“I don’t know what’s fair, Steve!” she exclaimed, throwing her hands up. “All I know is that when it comes to Bucky, you are completely unpredictable. I mean, until an hour ago, I didn’t even think you  _could_  lie to me so forgive me for being a little shaken up by what’s just been dropped into my lap.”

He sighed again, a little less agitated. “I didn’t lie to you.”

“Oh don’t do that,” she said, shaking her head. “You think that because you didn’t come right out and  _say_  untrue things that I’m going to somehow  _not_ feel betrayed?” She pushed back her hair again. “I’m already angry, Steve. And hurt,” she leaned against the refrigerator. “And tired of this runaround so why don’t you just tell me what’s been going on?”

They were both quiet for what felt like too long before Steve took another deep breath in through his nose and rested against the counter, opposite from Darcy. “First thing,” he began, his tone returned to normal. “We didn’t find him. He found us. We were there to gather intel, like I said. Standard sweep of a group that looked like it might have ties to Hydra. On the last morning we’re there, I come back to my hotel room and…” he paused and moved his shoulders. “There’s Bucky. Waiting for me like…” Steve looked at the black and white tile between them and shook his head. “Like nothin’s changed.”

She felt her brow furrow again. “Just like that?” she asked. “What’d he say?”

The corner of Steve’s lips twitched into the briefest of smiles. “‘Hey, Steve.’”

Darcy pursed her lips, wishing that Steve wasn’t so heartbreaking when he smiled. She knew without a doubt that Bucky could have said anything after that and Steve would have gone right along with it. “And then…?”

He shrugged again. “He said he’d been following what’s been happening in Brooklyn the last few months…that he had information to share…he thought something was happening he needed to stop.”

She raised her eyebrows. “Okay? So you brought him back? Where has he been staying?”

Steve looked grim. “With Sam.”

She nodded. “And…is that the permanent solution? Exactly when were you planning on bringing me on board, here?”

“Soon,” he said, sounding as though he really did believe that. “I wanted to tell you right away I was just…” he clenched his jaw in frustration. “I didn’t want to put you in a spot where you might have to…”

Darcy watched him struggling with explaining himself for a long moment before she crossed her arms over her chest and frowned. “You thought I’d arrest him.”

He looked up with eyes full of guilt. “I thought you might  _have_ to arrest him.”

Silence fell thick and heavy between them. Darcy unfolded her arms and ran a hand over her face, dropping her head back to rest against the refrigerator. “Steve,” she exhaled his name around a heavy sigh. “I can’t do this if you don’t trust me.”

“You’re not the one I don’t trust,” he said almost instantly. “I didn’t want to put you in a position where it looked like you were choosing me over your job. I didn’t—”

“You should have told me,” she cut him off. “And  _not_ because I’m a cop or because Bucky has information that I might need to do my job.” She waited until he raised his eyes to hers again before she continued. “You should have told me because it’s  _me._  It’s  _you_ and  _me_  and we’re supposed to be a team, remember?”

Steve’s expression softened and he looked down again. “I know,” he said quietly. “I’m sorry.”

Darcy pursed her lips thoughtfully and felt the fire dying out of her argument. “I mean it, Steve,” she continued. “I’m not just talking about helping Bucky or getting us all out of this mess unscathed. I mean, I’m not going to do  _this,_ ” she motioned to the air between them, “if you don’t trust me.”

Steve’s eyes snapped back to hers. “Darcy,” he said, taking a tentative step toward her. “I trust you more than…” he stopped and shook his head. “I screwed up, okay? I know that. I should’ve told you from the beginning what was going on.”

“So why didn’t you?” she demanded.

He swallowed hard and moved his shoulders. “I was…I don’t know. I’ve spent four years looking for him and to have him just show up like this it…” he paused. “It threw me,” he said simply. “I spent so long wondering where he was—if he was okay—if he was even still alive. I just…” he exhaled and shook his head. “I wanted to make sure he wasn’t just going to disappear again. I didn’t...” he stopped himself again and chose his next words carefully. “I just knew that the more people that knew about him being here…the less control I had over what happens next and the greater the chance that…”

“That you might lose him again,” Darcy finished softly.

This time, when the silence swept back between them, it was less charged. Less aggressive.

Steve hadn’t moved any closer, but Darcy hadn’t moved away from him either by the time he spoke again. “I’ve hated keeping it from you and I was  _going_ to tell you soon. I swear.” Gently, hesitantly, Steve reached out and tucked a stray, dark curl behind her ear. When she didn’t immediately pull away, he continued. “The last thing I’ve ever wanted to do was to hurt you.”

She let out another heavy breath and dropped her head. The only thing worse than knowing when Steve was lying was knowing when he was telling the truth. Her hands came up to rest on his hips and he leaned in to kiss the top of her head. She glanced up and met his eyes. “No more secrets?” she said, raising her eyebrows.

His relief was written all over his face as he nodded. “No more secrets.”

She curled her fingers into her palm and extended her pinkie finger. “Swear?”

The corner of Steve’s lips curled into a tentative half-smile as he hooked his little finger with hers. “I swear.”

Darcy nodded. “Good.” She cleared her throat. “Now let’s go figure out what comes next.”

They’d only taken a few steps back into the bull pen when she caught the concerned expressions of all three of the men they’d left behind. It only took a second for Darcy’s gaze to move from one to the other before she bypassed them and moved back to the hallway of interrogation rooms just in time to catch the tail of Captain Morrison’s jacket as he turned swiftly into Bucky’s room.

“What the fuck…” Driscoll was standing directly behind her when she turned around, flanked by Steve and with Eddie and Sam following close behind.

“That’s not good,” Eddie said, shooting his eyes over to meet Darcy’s exactly one second before Steve strode ahead of the group and yanked open the interrogation room door.

“Neither is that,” she muttered under her breath and took off after him.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Steve was asking her captain when she skidded into the room.

It was a stupid question. It was abundantly clear what Morrison was doing. By the time she’d pulled open the door, he’d hauled Bucky to his feet and was clicking his handcuffs into place behind his back. “I’m officially booking James Buchanan Barnes into police custody like someone should’ve done when he walked in the door,” Morrison said tersely, sending a glare Nowicki’s direction before he shot a second at Darcy.

Bucky’s jaw was clenched in a tight square. His gaze had narrowed and everything about him felt darker and more dangerous than before. Darcy swallowed hard and opened her mouth to speak but was cut off by Steve. “For what? He came here to give information. He came here voluntarily, he’s unarmed—”

“Captain Rogers, with all due respect, I think we both know that term doesn’t really apply when it comes to our friend here.”

“Hal,” Driscoll admonished lightly as he closed the door behind himself. “We have this situation under control.”

“Captain Morrison,” Darcy spoke up finally, pulling her gaze away from Bucky’s blank expression. “You can’t just arrest him without cause,” she reminded. “He’s still an American citizen and he has a right to due process.”

“And he’ll receive it—from all the safety and security of a nice private room in Sing Sing.”

Even Driscoll seemed taken aback. “You can’t seriously think we have the manpower to arrange that kind of transfer right now.”

Darcy cleared her throat, a swell of nerves bubbling in her chest. “Not to step on your railroading,” she said, tamping down her initial urge to be timid in the face of her superior officer. “But Barnes came here to speak to  _me._  He’s been a model informant thus far.” She didn’t look at Morrison when she said it, she kept her eyes on Bucky, hoping something would pull his attention back to her to offer a look of apology. “You can’t just take over like this.”

The police captain seemed unfazed by their arguments and interference. “You’re more than welcome to observe while he’s being questioned, Lewis,” he said with a shrug of his broad shoulders. “I have no problem with that.”

If she didn’t know him so well, Darcy might have missed the panic that flashed in Steve’s eyes when Morrison seized Bucky by the shoulders and took a step toward the door. “He’s not going to talk to anyone but Darcy,” he said quickly, the panic disappearing as fast as it had come. “He’s made that clear with the other officers.”

Morrison looked around Bucky’s left side in an attempt to catch his prisoner’s eye. “Playing hard to get?” he asked, sounding almost amused before he turned his attention back to Steve. “As much as I enjoy being told how to do my job by a civilian, Rogers, he’ll talk to me.”

“No, Cap,” Nowicki spoke up finally. He cleared his throat. “He won’t.”

“They’re right,” Bucky said quietly. The room fell silent at the unexpected sound of his voice. “I won’t.” The corner of his lips turned up into a smirk. Not the sweet, almost apologetic smile that Darcy had glimpsed earlier. This one was dangerous. Full of dark potential. “And with all due respect,  _sir_ ,” he moved his shoulders in a way that just barely rattled the metal of his handcuffs against his steel plated wrist, “If you tried to send me upstate, there’s no guarantee we’d all make it.”

Morrison looked halfway impressed. “Are you threatening me?” he asked, a scoff in his voice.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Bucky said dryly. “But there are at least a dozen points of escape during a prisoner transfer that wouldn’t spill a drop of blood.” He cleared his throat. “And if I’m right, you’ve already wasted enough time and you’re going to want Officer Lewis to have all the information I came here to give her.”

Darcy watched while Driscoll, Nowicki, and Morrison exchanged uncomfortable glances before Morrison turned his attention to back to Steve. “It sounds like we’re bargaining,” he said gruffly. “What is it  _you_  want out of this, Rogers?”

Steve squared his jaw. “For starters, I want you to remove those handcuffs and stop treating him like he’s a prisoner.” Morrison didn’t move, but raised his eyebrows and waited for Steve to continue. “And I want your word that you’re not taking him anywhere without his permission.”

“Sure,” Morrison shrugged with false carelessness. “I’m in the business of letting known assassins just wander in and out of my precinct whenever they feel like it.”

“You’re not going to lose track of him,” Steve countered, sounding remarkably calm for the way his jaw was still clenched. “He’s going to come home with me—”

“ _What_?” Darcy exclaimed before she could stop herself.

“Out of the question—” Morrison said, both he and Steve ignoring her outburst before Steve continued.

“And I’ll make sure he’s everywhere you need him to be until his business with the police is over.”

Driscoll had started shaking his head. “That’s too big of a risk.”

“How?” Steve asked, his eyes moving from Morrison to Driscoll without stopping to acknowledge Darcy standing between them. “If you’re worried about security what better arrangement than having him in the custody of a member of the NYPD  _and_ an Avenger?”

“Who says he’s not secure here?” Morrison blustered.

“You did,” Steve reminded with a sardonic laugh. “You know as well as I do that holding him here—even if it’s just long enough to get him transferred upstate—is just inviting another circus of leaks to the media.” He paused and crossed his arms over his chest, standing up just a fraction of an inch taller. “And if you want to explain to the press why you’re disregarding the mayor’s promise of sanctuary for the man who saved the life of one of your officers last year…”

“Just who the fuck do you think you are, Rogers?’ Morrison asked, his Brooklyn accent coming through loud and clear the longer his anger simmered just below his collar.

She’d seen plenty of others back down from him before, but Steve didn’t seem fazed. He shrugged. “Just a regular guy with some really well-known friends,” he said simply. “Some of whom have been funding your department almost single-handedly since we helped you apprehend the Brooklyn Carver.”

Darcy’s eyes widened for a moment and she opened her mouth to object but Morrison beat her to it. “Don’t think we’re not grateful for Stark’s…interest in our operations, Captain,” he added Steve’s title curtly. “But if you’re trying to blackmail me and my department—”

Steve smiled wide and let out a short laugh. “Furthest thing from my mind, sir,” he said with a shake of his head. “I was just hoping you’d remember how successful collaborations with my team and your department have been in the past.” Still grinning, he clapped a hand to the police captain’s shoulder. “No, if I wanted to  _threaten_ you, all I’d have to say is that Bucky chose to bring you this case and this information at great personal risk to himself so I’d put money on the fact that it’s probably worth it. And probably something you’re going to want in on. But,” he shrugged again and dropped his hand back down, “if you don’t feel like cooperating or following the mayor’s guidelines for asylum, we can take it straight to the DOJ instead.” He offered another smile. “I’m sure there’s plenty of ways to explain why you didn’t feel it was worth your time and energy to keep the people of Brooklyn safe, Captain.”

Darcy felt her eyes narrow as a coil of resentment began to cool in her gut. She crossed her arms over her chest and waited for Steve to look at her, to acknowledge that he knew how much he was overstepping, how close he was to endangering her job and her reputation.

                But he didn’t. He kept his gaze on Morrison, waiting for what felt like too long before the older man sighed heavily and ran a hand over his face. “Jesus fucking Christ…” he muttered, reaching into his pocket for the key to unlock Bucky’s handcuffs.

                “He’s right, Cap,” Driscoll said quietly. “This has the potential to be a huge mess.”

                “Goddammit,” Morrison grumbled, popping open the cuffs with a metallic  _clink_  and stepping away from behind Bucky before he addressed him directly. “Whatever it is you’ve got, it better be good.”

Bucky didn’t blink as he stared back. “It is.”

Darcy remained frozen with her arms crossed waiting for one of them—any one of them—to look her way, to see if she had anything to say about this. But they didn’t. Not when they started discussing the logistics of handling Bucky as an official informant in protective custody, not when the idea of electronic monitoring came up and was batted around, not even when they mentioned her by name, discussing if it made sense to start any of this work tonight or if it would be better for everyone to start fresh in the morning.

If Steve could feel her eyes burning a hole into the side of his face, he was doing an excellent job of hiding it. After a few minutes of simmering in silence and the realization that she wasn’t going to be brought into this conversation, Darcy shook her head and headed for the hallway.

"Lewis,” Driscoll barked as she reached the handle. She turned, wishing it had been Steve that invited her back instead, but raised her eyebrows expectantly. Driscoll nodded to Bucky. “Take Barnes with you and call down to surveillance. See if we can get this set up tonight.”

She blinked at his dismissive assignment before she nodded. “Sure, LT,” she said, twisting the door open with a wrench of her wrist. “Anything else I can do for you? Maybe file your reports or get you boys a cup of coffee?”

Before anyone could respond, she motioned for Bucky to follow her with a jerk of her head and retreated into the hall where Sam and Eddie had been eavesdropping.

“Are you okay?” Eddie asked after the door had swung closed and she’d started up the hallway, now being trailed by three men.

“I’m fine,” she said brusquely. Darcy stopped them all at her desk while she rummaged for her phone list. She glanced at her watch. “You should go home, Kimball,” she said with a quick glance in his direction. “You’ve got someone who loves you and doesn’t step over your authority and disrespect you in front of your superior officers waiting for you at home.” She found the coffee-stained piece of paper and grabbed the desk phone.

Sam and Eddie exchanged concerned glances. “Look, Darcy,” Sam took a tentative step forward. “If this isn’t going to work for you then Barnes can just keep staying with me.”

“Or if I have any say in this,” Bucky spoke up in a surprisingly conversational tone, “and it’s between prison and Wilson’s place, you can put the cuffs back on right now and I’ll come quietly.”

Sam narrowed his eyes and glared at Bucky. “That’s cold, man,” he said gravely. “I bought you a toothbrush.”

“Well, I used yours anyway.”

Sam’s look became murderous. “And a hairbrush,” he added as though he hadn’t been interrupted. “Which, from the looks of it you never bothered to touch.”

Darcy rolled her eyes and exhaled heavily as the phone rang once in her ear before Dr. Kassem and her musical Iranian accent picked up. “Hey Doc,” Darcy said, trying not to let her anger project itself onto her colleague. “I’ve got a live one, can you help me out?”

“Bag and tag,” the physician joked with a giggle. “Bring him down. I’ll meet you.”

She dropped the phone with an unceremonious clunk and looked back at the three of them. She offered Sam a smile that barely turned the corners of her lips. “That’s a sweet offer, Sam, but apparently that decision is out of our hands. Eddie,” she moved her gaze from one man to the next, “you should go home and get some sleep. Something tells me there’s a mountain of shit about to hit the fan and we should both be well rested.”

He nodded reluctantly, his gaze continuing to dart between her and Bucky. “You sure you’re okay?”

She took a deep breath in and let it out. “No,” she said simply, her mind still whirling with everything that had happened since he’d handed her the phone hours ago. “But thanks for asking.” She turned her attention to Bucky. “You’re with me.”

The ability to track and locate Bucky while he was working as an informant was one of Morrison’s terms. While she’d been standing there grinding her teeth, feeling less than invisible, the four men had agreed that a house-arrest bracelet wasn’t practical and when Darcy had opened her mouth to suggest the new trackers Stark had recently provided, Nowicki had jumped in and made the suggestion himself.

Bucky had been surprisingly agreeable to the idea.

It was a half hour later, with the man in question freshly chipped like a stray dog and waiting patiently at her desk while she filled out the protective custody paperwork, that Steve finally approached her.

“Hey,” he said, stopping a few feet from her desk. There was something in his voice—a mix of hesitation and unease. “Is uh…” he cleared his throat. “Everything go okay down in surveillance?”

She didn’t look up. “Yep.”

Out of the corner of her eye, she caught Bucky shaking his head. Steve coughed again. “Listen, I know you’re…” he stopped himself and shot Bucky a look. “Can you give us a minute?”

Bucky rolled his eyes and got to his feet. “Sure,” he said, rubbing lightly at the back of his neck. “You’re gonna need longer than that,” he muttered, strolling leisurely over to the framed photos of police forces.

Darcy could feel just about every movement Steve made as he shuffled uncomfortably next to her. She kept her jaw clenched, not trusting herself not to say something that she’d regret later. Waiting for Steve to apologize for the way he’d steamrolled over her in the interrogation room. Waiting for him to acknowledge that he could have endangered her job threatening her captain like that. He shuffled his feet again before he finally spoke up. “I’m uh.” He stopped and started again. “Look, if I was out of line back there—”

Her head snapped up. “ _If_ you were out of line?” she repeated incredulously. “ _If?_  You’re comfortable with your use of the word ‘if’ here, are you?”

His expression immediately became defensive. “What was I supposed to do? Just let your boss haul him off to prison?”

She opened her mouth to respond and then snapped her jaws closed again. “Never mind,” she said, shaking her head and returning to her paperwork. “Anything I’m going to say right now is just a fucking waste of time.”

“Is that right?” he asked, an antagonizing edge to his voice.

“Yep,” she stood up again and grabbed her papers, heading for the copier.

“And why is that?” Steve asked, taking a few steps to follow her.

“Because you’re right and the whole world is wrong and no matter what anyone says or does, nothing is going to change that.” She punched in the number of copies she needed and flipped open the top of the copier with a little too much gusto. It banged back down heavily, making her grimace. She forced herself to open the machine with a little more patience. “So, I’m not even going to try.”

“Don’t you think that’s oversimplifying things a little bit?”

“Nope,” she said, no longer caring if she sounded petulant. She got her copies and walked past him, back to her desk.

He exhaled heavily again and dropped his hands onto his hips before he turned around. “So that’s it? We’re not even going to talk about this?”

“I think you’ve done quite enough talking for one night, Steve,” she said scrawling her signature in the appropriate places. “You should just quit while you’re ahead.”

Driscoll, Nowicki and Morrison were lingering by the sergeant’s desk when she stood up and scanned the bullpen. She raised her hand to catch their attention. Nowicki waved back. “You heading out?”

She nodded. “I’ll be back with Barnes tomorrow. We’ll start on whatever he’s got first thing.”

Nowicki tilted his head to one side. “You okay, Lewis?”

Darcy rolled her eyes and turned toward the door. “I really wish everyone would stop asking me that,” she muttered under her breath.

               

 

When the cab arrived, Darcy got in first and slid all the way to the opposite side. She watched out of the corner of her eye as Steve and Bucky each motioned for the other to get in beside her. This went on for about a minute before Darcy cleared her throat and leaned forward. “You can leave them here,” she said, addressing the driver loud enough that they both heard her.

It was only another few moments before Bucky clambered in next to her, the cramped space of the middle seat causing him to sit with his knees almost up around his shoulders. Steve climbed in next and shut the door, squeezing them all in together like sardines.

The cabbie cleared his throat. “Someone can sit up front,” he suggested, eyeing them in the rearview mirror. “Plenty of room.”

“This is fine,” Darcy said. “Just take us home, please.”

They rode the four miles from the precinct to the apartment in complete silence. Darcy unlocked the door and headed straight for the bedroom while Steve pointed out the kitchen and bathroom to their houseguest. She’d changed into her shorts and oversized t-shirt by the time Steve arrived in the doorway. He watched her turn back the blankets and rearranged the pillows for a moment before he cleared his throat. “Darcy…”

She looked up and raised her eyebrows. “I really don’t want to talk to you right now,” she said evenly. “I just need you to go somewhere else and not try and get into this bed with me.”

Steve watched her for a few long moments before he sighed and grabbed the pillow from his side of the bed. “Fine,” he resigned, not objecting when she followed him to the door and waited for him to retreat to the hallway before she closed it behind him.

He was standing in the middle of the living room when Bucky returned from the bathroom. His hair had been pulled back into a short ponytail and he carried his jacket in his hand. He stopped short and took stock of Steve and his pillow and glanced around the rest of the room. “Why don’t you have any furniture?”

Steve rubbed at his eyes. “It’s all being delivered on Wednesday.”

Bucky’s eyes fell to the single pillow in Steve’s hands. He shrugged. “It’s more than I thought she’d give you.” He shook his head when Steve offered it to him. “I’m fine without one.”

Steve rolled his eyes. “Buck, c’mon.”

Bucky grabbed the pillow and threw it on the ground. “Turn off the light,” he demanded and tucked his arm under one half of the pillow. “We’ll share.”

Steve did as he was asked and got down on the ground to stretch out next to Bucky. They shuffled around clumsily for a few moments before Steve could claim a small part of the pillow for himself. “You have enough room?” he asked after a few more minutes of shifting and shuffling between them.

“It’s fine, Steve,” Bucky was quiet for a minute before Steve heard him smirk. “But don’t think this means I’m putting out.”

Despite everything that had transpired in the last few hours, Steve couldn’t help but laugh. “Go fuck yourself, Buck,” he muttered before his eyes grew heavy and sleep took hold.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *wince* I hate making my favorites fights. But I hope you can understand why I had to and maybe, if you're so inclined, leave me a little love? 
> 
> Also, come party on Tumblr with me at idontgettechnology.tumblr.com
> 
> Thanks friends!


	4. Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everybody's got a case! You get a case and YOU get a case!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yikes this took a little longer than I had hoped but it was like I blinked and July was gone! Thank you everyone who wrote such wonderful reviews of the last chapter. I have read every one and will be replying just as soon as I can look at my computer without droopy eyelids.
> 
> I love you all and if for some reason you don't think it matters one way or the other, every reveiw alert email literally makes my day. I look at my phone or computer with a big stupid smile on my face and there's no better feeling in the world. So thank you. Thank you from the bottom of my heart.

                Bucky had been right: he sounded insane.

                The empty office they’d been granted use of for the last week had slowly and steadily become home to a wall of newspaper clippings, obituaries, and photos. A host of the most convoluted conspiracy theory Darcy had ever heard that went well and beyond Jared Griffin and anything she’d been prepared for.

                It was more than anyone had been prepared for, as it turned out, judging by the way officers from every department kept making up excuses to drop by and try to eavesdrop on what Bucky had to offer.

                “This is fucked.”

                Except Eddie, of course. Who didn’t bother with excuses when he stood in the doorway and took in everything hanging on the wall. He was carrying three coffees from the cart outside and set the carrier down before he took one for himself. He looked around the room and furrowed his brow. “Where’s the silver-armed prince of darkness?” When Darcy quirked an unimpressed eyebrow at him, he shrugged. “I didn’t come up with it—it’s what Sam called him.”

                Darcy snorted and pushed back her hair. “We’re taking a break,” she said and dropped into the swivel chair with the squeaky wheels and the large patches of exposed foam stuffing. “I needed a minute and I think he needed a cigarette.”

                “It’s 2017,” Eddie said, wrinkling his nose. “Who still smokes?”

                “I guess no one told him we all quit in the 90’s,” she reminded dryly, giving a squealing turn of the chair to face the wall again.

                Her partner retrieved her coffee from the carrier and brought it to her before he leaned against the desk and crossed his arms over her chest, studying the wall. “So…” he said after a moment’s contemplation, “what’s the gist?”

                Darcy took a sip of the coffee he’d brought for her—cream and two sugars—and exhaled a sigh. “If he’s right, we’re fucked.”

                “We being…”

                “Brooklyn,” she said grimly. “New York, the whole country.”

                Eddie didn’t seem impressed. At best, he looked intrigued. “Walk me through it?”

               Darcy let out a heavy sigh and began pointing things out on the wall. “According to Bucky, over the last eleven months, four key figures either in public office or in public service have died. He thinks that someone—or some _ones_ —are staging a coup to seize control of New York City, starting with Brooklyn.”

               Her partner coughed into his takeout cup. “A coup?” he repeated dubiously.

               She shrugged. “I don’t know a better word for it, do you?”

               Eddie still looked skeptical. “A few words are coming to mind,” he admitted. “None of them are especially productive.” He studied the wall again. “What the hell’s his proof?”

               She took another sip of her coffee. “Turkey in 1960,” she said. “And Chile in 1973,” she pointed to the brief histories of former toppled governments that Bucky had sketched out for her. “I think he said something about Czechoslovakia too…Point is,” she dropped her hand. “He’s seen it before.”

               “And he’s seeing it here?”

               She nodded. “My vague recollection of my underutilized political science degree reminded me that overthrowing leadership of any kind takes at least three things: resources, organization, and patience.” She touched her index, middle, and ring finger to her thumb as she counted them off. “But apparently, I’m missing one, and that’s the one Bucky’s focusing on.”

               “And that is…”

               “Chaos,” she said, repeating the word that had dropped a heavy weight into her stomach when Bucky had first brought it up.

               Eddie crossed his arms over his chest and breathed out a heavy exhale. “Well,” he said with a shrug. “Plenty of that to go around.”

                She shook her head. “Not the usual kind of chaos. Something a little more extravagant.”

               “And to pull that off they've been murdering all the people on your little Conspiracy Theory vision board here?"

She shrugged again. "That's where the organization part comes in."

               The furrows of concern had not relaxed from Eddie’s brow. “Okay, so wait…people have been dropping left and right inside the local government and nobody’s noticed?”

               She shook her head again and got to her feet. “Let’s start at the top.” She pointed to an obituary with a nice, color photo of a well-dressed white man who couldn’t have been older than his early thirties. “This guy,” she said beginning where Bucky had when they’d started this discussion days ago. “Is Crispin McCall.”

                “Stupid name,” Eddie said bluntly. “Never heard of him.”

                “Me either,” Darcy agreed. “He worked for JP Morgan. One of their up-and-comers. He died of a heart attack right after Halloween—sources say it was probably cocaine related.”

               Eddie raised his eyebrows. “Rich white guy who made more money per quarter than I’m gonna take home in a lifetime? Sorry, but I’m fresh outta tears.”

                “Samesies,” she assured him. “But Barnes says McCall sat on the budget and finance committee for the department of city planning.”

                “…Okay…”

                “And since his untimely end, there’s been a significant change in the speed at which major projects are being approved and funded.”

                Eddie took another sip of his coffee. “Makes sense. If they’re down a guy it’s gonna slow everything down.”

                “They’re not slowing down,” Darcy corrected. “They’re speeding up.”

                “What?”

                “According to Bucky they’ve pushed through twice their usual amount of proposals since November without any explanation.”

                Eddie still looked skeptical. “Okay, but that sounds like a positive thing. I mean, they’re probably moving through some stuff the city’s needed for a while now.”

                “ _Or_ ,” Darcy turned her squeaky chair and grabbed for her notepad, “they’re creating a tornado of paperwork that someone can use as a distraction or a way to bury funding something less-than positive.”

                Only one of Eddie’s eyebrows rose this time. “Like what?”

                She shrugged. “We don’t know. It’s just a theory. If the captain gets on board we might be able to requisition some or all of these proposals but something tells me he’s not going to go for that.”

                “Yeah,” Eddie nodded. “He’s not exactly Barnes’ biggest fan.” He turned his attention back to the wall. “Who else is dead?”

                “Gregory Wheeler,” she read from her notes before she looked up and pointed to the next photo and accompanying obituary.

                Eddie crossed his arms over his chest and squinted at the newspaper clippings. “This guy’s not even from Brooklyn,” he commented.

                “No,” she shook her head. “He’s not. Wheeler worked for Northfield Diagnostics, based out of Albany.”

                Eddie leaned in closer, moving his gaze from the obituary from the Albany newspaper to the printed pages from the Northfield website. “Are they some kind of medical office?” he asked, looking back at Darcy over his shoulder.

                She pointed for him to look back to the list of previous clients. “Organizational diagnostics,” she clarified. “Apparently when a company or a non-profit or a city government finds themselves being ineffective, they can call up places like Northfield and they’ll send a guy like Gregory to tell them how to plug up the leaks and get everything looking ship-shape.”

                “So what happened to Greg?”

                “Suicide,” she answered, looking down at her yellow legal pad. “Hanged himself in his closet.”

                Her partner grimaced. “Aaand what does that have to do with Crispy McCall, the coke-loving stereotype?”

                Darcy rolled her eyes. “I assumed nothing. But apparently Northfield was the most likely bid for a new contract within the city government. Wheeler was their top guy—and if he’d accessed any of the city’s myriad mental health programs earlier, he would have been the one doing all of the observations and suggesting the big changes.”

                Eddie nodded. “Okay, so we’ve got a big mountain of pre-funded city planning projects and no one to grease the wheels of bureaucracy to get them pushed through…” he frowned. “That seems counterproductive.”

                “For now, that’s what I think too.” She twirled her pen between her fingers and tapped the chewed cap against the yellow paper in her lap. “If I knew who was replacing either of these gentlemen I might have more of an idea about where to go from here.”

                “Anyone else dead?”

                She nodded and shuffled more paper. “Ananda Reeves. Forty-three. Died in a car accident three months ago on the Pennsylvania turnpike.”

                “And she worked—”

                “New York City Water Board.” Darcy ran a hand over her face. “We’re still trying to figure out what exactly she did there.”

                Eddie took another pensive sip from his coffee cup. “Can I ask the obvious question?”

                “Why aren’t I handing this over to Homeland Security?”

                _“Whyyyy_ aren’t you handing this over to Homeland Security?” Eddie asked, his expression twisted with confusion. “I mean, even the hunch alone—”

                “Because your bosses aren’t buying it.” Bucky’s voice startled them both and pulled their attention to find him standing in the doorway. He offered a nod of acknowledgement to Eddie before he continued. “This is all conjecture for right now and nobody up top’s gonna move without something concrete.” His eyes fell on the last remaining coffee and he took a few steps into the room before tentatively removing the white paper cup from the carrier. “Speaking of,” he glanced back in Darcy’s direction, “you lieutenant wants to see you.”

                She sighed. “And here we go,” she muttered under her breath as she got to her feet. “I’ll be back.”

 

                “Three days, Lewis,” Driscoll said before she even had a chance to close the door.

                “I know, sir.”

                “You’ve had three days to talk to Barnes and you don’t have anything solid we can build a case on.” He looked up from the file on his desk and raised his eyebrow. “Unless you think something from this morning is going to hold?”

                Darcy opened her mouth and closed it again. “He’s got a lot of information to sort through.”

                “And does any of it sound useful yet?”

                She fought the urge to squirm. “It could be,” she said carefully, hoping to avoid the immediate shut-down she’d been handed every day since Bucky had arrived. “If we could follow up on some of these incidents—”

                “If you’re fishing for a warrant or for me to let you rope Kimball into this—”

                “Sir, come on,” Darcy said, trying her best not to whine. “You’ve got me in this catch-22, what am I supposed to do? You won’t let me investigate until Bucky gives me something solid and I can’t really find anything solid until you let me investigate.” She held out her hands and shrugged her shoulders. “What do you want from me?”

                Her lieutenant looked unapologetic. “Figure it out, Lewis,” he said. “You’re the one who thinks all this is going to be worth something.” He moved his broad shoulders in a shrug. “If you still think that then keep working your informant and hope something shakes loose.”

                Darcy sighed again and pushed back her hair. “Well, thanks for the pep talk, LT.”

                “You have until the end of the week,” he said before she reached the door.

                She turned back around. “To do…what?”

                “To give me something to work with,” he said as if it was obvious. “Otherwise I’m sending this to DHS and you’re going back to work on real cases.”

                “Oh for fuck’s sake…” she muttered under her breath.

                “Understood?”

                She clenched her jaw. “Understood,” she repeated glumly.

                Bucky was waiting in her chair when she returned to their makeshift office. “Are we in trouble?” he asked, the corner of his lips turned up in the faintest hint of a smile.

                She frowned and looked around the room. “Where’s Kimball?”

                “Had to go,” Bucky shrugged. “I think I make him nervous.”

                Her brow furrowed. “What makes you say that?”

                “He said he had to go to Lamaze class,” he frowned again. “Easily one of the worst excuses I’ve ever heard.”

                Darcy smothered a smile between her lips. “He was probably telling the truth,” she conceded. “His girlfriend’s pregnant.”

                “Oh.” Bucky’s frown turned thoughtful. “Well, that makes me feel a little bit better about me.”

                Her smile slipped away before she could hold onto it and she leaned against the table. “That makes one of us,” she muttered.

                “What did your CO want?”

                “To threaten me—us—with getting him something solid by the end of the week.”

                Bucky nodded with understanding. “Thought he might.”

                Darcy took a seat in the remaining empty chair. She dropped her elbows to the table and folded her hands in front of her face. “Look, I get that what you came here with is big pieces of an even bigger puzzle. But unless you show me evidence of a crime being committed, Driscoll’s either going to dismiss this entirely or he’s going to give it to Homeland Security.”

        “That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you for three days,” Bucky said, an edge of irritation in his voice. “You’re not looking at the pattern. The individual pieces aren’t necessarily what’s important—”

        “I know,” she cut him off. “But they’re important to Driscoll. And they’re important to us getting to work together to stop whatever this is.” When he rolled his eyes and sat back, she clenched her jaw together. “There has to be something we can give him to prove that you know what you’re talking about. That this isn’t all just crazy conspiracy theory.”

        He sat up straight again, his brow furrowed in thought. “So he doesn’t believe me?” he asked, tilting his head to one side. “About any of this?”

        She blew an exhale through her lips; her breath fluttered the stray hair that had slipped out of her bun. “Not particularly,” she admitted. “That’s why I need something that he can sink his teeth into—something that’s going to prove to him that you’re not just fucking with us.”

        Bucky pursed his lips for a moment and took a breath. “Ask if he wants to know who killed Phillip Waylon.”

        Her face scrunched together. “Who?”

        “Phillip Waylon,” Bucky repeated calmly. “Ask your lieutenant if he wants to know who killed him.”

        Darcy glanced over at their big board and raised an eyebrow. “Is that name supposed to mean something?”

        “It means something to Driscoll,” Bucky said with certainty. “Just trust me.”

 

***

 

        When Steve arrived at Natasha’s apartment, he was surprised to find that only he and Sam had received invitations via text that morning. “I thought the whole team would be here,” he commented, toeing out of his shoes at Natasha’s pointed glare.

        She shook her head and returned her attention to the stack of papers in her lap. “Tony left yesterday afternoon for Burma, Rhodey went with him.”

“Burma?” Steve repeated in surprise.

She looked up. “Something about mixing recon of a local terrorist group and landing a possible new tech contract with some of their local government…” she raised an eyebrow. “He didn’t mention it to you?”

He shook his head, not wanting to think about his most recent meeting with Tony for too long. “Probably just slipped his mind,” he said.

Natasha moved her shoulders. “I asked if he wanted up to back him up and was given a firm ‘no’ so I’m not asking questions.” Steve nodded before she continued. “Wanda and Vision are,” she looked at her watch, “training, I think. They might be up later to help. Bruce is in his lab with Helen, Barton’s with his family and Thor is working with Jane.”

        Steve raised an eyebrow. “Working on what?”

She shrugged again, uninterested. “They’re upgrading her equipment with some Asgardian technology he brought back the last time he was there.”

        “Sounds a hell of a lot cooler than what we’re working on,” Sam muttered, shifting in the deep leather armchair in the corner. He was sifting through a small forest of what looked printouts of computer encryptions.

                “And…what is all this?” he asked before he frowned as he began to take in the room. Papers lived on every available surface of Natasha’s living room. The coffee table and side tables were covered, brown file boxes lined the wall under the window and there seemed to be no system or even attempt at organization in place. “Aside from a huge mess?”

 “It’s mostly just a huge mess,” Sam assured him.  

                “It’s _our_ huge mess,” Natasha corrected without missing a beat. “And it’s about time we started cleaning it up.”

                Steve grabbed the stack of printouts on the remaining black armchair and sat down. “Can we go back?” he asked, darting his eyes from one teammate to the other. “What mess are you talking about?”

                Natasha stopped her reading and sat up straight. She looked around the room. “Last month the new recruits were looking for a job so I told them to start collecting everything they could find from the SHIELD-Hydra data dump four years ago.”

                Steve blinked and looked around the room again. “And…that’s what all this is?”

                She shook her head. “This is everything from 1948 to 1960.”

                His eyes widened. “What?”

                “I thought it might be easier to manage if I could look at hard copies,” she explained defensively. “But after the sixth box was delivered I called a moratorium on printing and we’re back to digital files.”

                “The earth and her rapidly shrinking icecaps thank you,” Sam grumbled.

                “What prompted all this?” he asked, glancing down at the pile in his hands. He’d wound up with a bunch of early SHIELD files, he realized, vaguely wondering if any of Peggy’s mission notes were among them.

                “Darcy,” Natasha said, noting that his eyes snapped up when she spoke. She looked apologetic for a moment before she continued, “And sorry if that’s a sore subject, but it’s the truth.”

                “It’s not a sore subject,” he lied. “I’m just not sure what this has to do with her.”

                “Last year, when we were looking into Barnes and that other Widow and the _Ravnodenstviye,”_ the name of the chemical weapon that had given them their only lead to vindicate Bucky rolled effortlessly off her tongue. “I realized that we only did half the job when we made those files public. I was so focused on getting Hydra back out into the open I didn’t think about what other monsters I might be letting out of the box.”

                Steve frowned at what she was implying. He hadn’t considered that either, if he was being honest. Natasha’s decision to dump SHIELD’s secrets had been one of a million life-altering things that had happened that day and in the aftermath, he hadn’t had time to think about the ramifications. “Have you found anything so far?”

                Sam looked up with one eyebrow raised. “Have we found anything in the top-secret files of a top-secret spy organization from the first ten years of the Cold War?” He waited for a moment and then added. “After two whole hours of digging?”

                Steve let out a heavy exhale. “Right.”

                “And anyway, we’re not actively looking for anything,” Natasha said. “This is about cataloguing and familiarizing ourselves with future potential threats.”

                “Homework,” Sam said flatly. “We’re doing homework.”

                “Yes, that’s exactly what we’re doing,” she said and allowed the corner of her lips to curl into a half smile. “So rest that back that’s obviously aching from three nights of sleeping on the couch and pull up some secrets.”

                The weight of his glare was not enough to banish her smirk. “Your sensitivity is appreciated, as always, Romanoff,” he said with a nod.

                “You’re not getting any sympathy from me,” she assured him. “I think she’s being lenient. I would have sent you to Sam’s.”

                Sam looked up, indignantly. “Who says I would have let him stay?” he scoffed. “He wouldn’t be sleeping on the couch if he’d just told her the truth like I suggested.”

                Steve rubbed his eyes. “You’re right,” he said with resignation. “It’s become abundantly clear that keeping secrets of any kind from Darcy is a bad idea.”

“And the same goes double for acting like an ass in front of her co-workers,” Sam reminded.

“Yup,” he nodded once. “That too.”

“Maybe you should actually just stay away from her precinct all together,” Natasha suggested.

“Yeah, maybe,” Steve said, rapidly nearing the end of his patience. “Can we just…” he motioned to the mess around the room, “work? Please?”

Nat held up her hands in mock surrender. “Whatever you say, boss.”

He resisted the urge to stretch out the knot that had developed between his shoulder blades and grimaced. “And for the record, Bucky’s on the couch. I’ve been sleeping on two armchairs pushed together.”

                Sam shook his head. “Man, I do not envy you.”

                Steve sighed again and flipped open the first file folder on his pile.

 

***

 

                Lieutenant Driscoll blinked. His steely gray eyes narrowed at the corners. “What did you just say?”

                Darcy bit her lip. “Phillip Waylon,” she repeated. “He…seems to think that name will mean something to you.”

                Driscoll inhaled a heavy breath and blew it out with a loud wheeze through his lips. “I haven’t thought about that name in thirty years.”

                She raised her eyebrows. “Wanna share with the class?”

                Her CO sighed again and swiped a hand over his face. “One of my first cases in homicide—before I was a detective.” Darcy tried to imagine Driscoll in the 80’s, starry-eyed with some terrible attempt at facial hair and all the enthusiasm that radiated from every rookie. It was hard to imagine. “Family was murdered on Vinegar,” he motioned to the window in his office, like the scene was just outside. “Father—Waylon, mother, teenage daughter all shot to death in their beds.” He frowned to himself and shook his head. “Only one to survive was a four-year-old son.”

                It was her turn to frown. “How’d he survive?”

                Driscoll shrugged. “Not a scratch on him. Like the killer didn’t even want to bother.”

                Her frown deepened. “So what happened to the case?”

        He shook his head. “Abso-fucking-lutely nothing,” he groused. “We followed two or three leads with the father’s business rivalries but it went ice cold after six months.”

                 “What about the son?”

                  Driscoll rubbed at his eyes. “Social services took him,” he said with resignation. “Moved him upstate and then, after a few years, across the country,” Driscoll continued. “And you haven’t told me what this has to do with Griffin or any of those other obits you’ve got hanging up in there.”

               She took a deep breath. “Waylon isn’t connected to all of that,” she said carefully. “But Barnes wants us to believe him on that stuff, so he’s offering information on an older case as…” she paused and chose her words with caution. “Like a show of good faith.”

                Driscoll only looked mildly intrigued. “I’ll listen to what he’s got to say,” he shrugged, almost flippant. “But I’m telling you right now—I went over that case a million times and he’s not going to tell me anything I don’t already know.”

               Darcy looked out the window into the bullpen where Bucky was hanging around by her desk. She gave him a nod inside. “Look, sir,” she said before he joined them. “Even if this doesn’t pan out, I would really like to keep working on this case with him.”

               “Lewis—”

               “Even if it’s just a side-gig in my free time,” she continued quickly. “I think there’s reason to believe him.”

Driscoll sighed for the third time in only a few minutes. “I’ll think about it,” he said finally, sounding like an impatient father. Sounding a lot like _her_ impatient father, if she was being honest. “But don’t quote me on that,” he warned before he waved Bucky into his office. He waited until he closed the door and sat in the well-worn leather chair beside Darcy. “So, what do you know about who killed Phillip Waylon?”

               Bucky sat up straight and let his hands rest on his knees. From the other side of the desk, he probably seemed alert, but casual. Sitting next to him, Darcy caught the way his fingers were gripping the fabric of his jeans. “I did,” he said calmly. As Driscoll opened his mouth to unleash what Darcy could only assume would be a truly impressive string of profanity, Bucky continued, “in Moscow in 1989.”

               The lieutenant’s face contorted with doubt. “You’re mistaken,” he said gravely. “Waylon was killed in his home, in Brooklyn in 1986, along with his—”

                 “Wife and daughter,” Bucky finished the sentence in unison. “I know the cover story. But whoever they took out of that house—the guy who’s face got blown off? That wasn’t Waylon.”

                 “And you know this how?”

“Because I’m the one they sent to eliminate him after they realized he let that kid live.”

Darcy swallowed with some difficulty and slid to the edge of her seat, watching Driscoll’s reaction closely. His eyes narrowed and his jaw tightened. “What all can you tell me?”

“His real name was Mikhal Kuznetsov. He was an undercover operative. The wife, the kids, the job as an investment banker,” he ticked the words off on his metal fingers. “All part of the cover.”

Driscoll scoffed. “You’re telling me this was the work of an actual Russian spy?”

Bucky didn’t smile. “More of a soldier than a spy,” he clarified. “But yeah. He was stationed stateside in 1970, I think. Maybe ‘71. Told to blend in and wait for instruction.”

“And then what happened?”

He shrugged. “What always happens when someone gets called back. Destroy all evidence and leave no witnesses.”

She couldn’t help the chill that slid down her spine at his casual tone. “How’d you find out about the son?” Darcy asked.

            Bucky shook his head. “Sentimental jackass took a memento from the kid’s room. This little toy Batman car.” He sighed. “Tried to hide it but they found it with his things and realized what happened.”

            “So you killed him,” Driscoll said, narrowing his eyes even further. “What about the kid?”

            Bucky’s head moved again. “By then the wall was down. Hydra had bigger fish for me to fry. If someone’s taken out that kid since then, it wasn’t me.”

            Driscoll frowned. “No, he’s still around. I check in on him every now and then.”

            If this had been a happier story, Darcy might have wanted to smile. To call her LT out on having a heart after all. But this wasn’t a happy story. Darcy stayed quiet.

            “But I worked this case myself,” Driscoll continued. “Everyone I talked to was certain the man next to Olivia Waylon was Phillip. How come nobody noticed if he did a switcheroo?”

            Bucky frowned. “Are you remembering all the blood in that bed?” he asked as if he’d seen the crime scene himself. “There was nothing left from his jaw to his forehead. No dental records, no facial recognition.” He moved his shoulders. “And no one who was going to look too hard into the ID of a man supposedly found dead in his own home.”

            “So why’d he leave his son alive?”

            “Like I said. Sentiment. The kid was four—maybe five years old. Looked like him. Had his name.” Bucky shrugged again. “So he let him go and took that stupid car as a reminder.”

            Darcy opened her mouth and closed it again. The words were sitting there, right on the tip of her tongue but she stopped herself a second time.

            Driscoll sighed. “What, Lewis?”

            “What did the kid say when you interviewed him back then?” she asked delicately. “Did he ever mention seeing the man who killed his family?”

            Her lieutenant pursed his lips and shifted in his chair. “We didn’t talk to him.”

            “What?”

            “He was too young,” Driscoll said almost immediately. “He didn’t see anything and even if he had, he couldn’t tell us much of anything…” he groaned and ran a hand over his face. “Look, I was a rookie when I worked this case. I asked three ways from Sunday about talking to that kid and I got the same answer every time. And not from the detectives, that order came from the top brass.”

            “That it wouldn’t be worth it,” Bucky said definitively.

            Driscoll nodded. “Yeah.”

The two men looked at each other for a long time before Bucky spoke again. “I assume you’re starting to see why that order was given, Lieutenant.”

                Darcy wanted to reach out a hand and stop Bucky from saying anything more. She could tell Driscoll was nearing his limit of how much he could take in one day. To insinuate that the first police chief he’d served under was Hydra just might be enough to break him.

                Driscoll steepled his fingers in front of his lips. “What’s the worse the kid could’ve said,” he asked, pitching theories like the rookie he’d been when the Waylon blood was still fresh. “Why keep him from talking at all?”

                “Maybe he recognized his old man,” Bucky suggested. “Or maybe when you took him back to his room, he points out that his Batmobile is missing. Turns out that’s the only thing that’s missing in the whole damn house and that’s pretty suspicious, isn’t it? All of a sudden you’ve got a lead.”

                “And one lead leads to another,” Driscoll murmured, shaking his head. “I don’t know, Barnes. This could all be fabrication. Gimme something that’s got legs.”

                “Order a DNA swab,” Darcy suggested. When her commanding officer looked at her, surprised, she continued. “There’s gotta be stuff in evidence with Waylon—or Mikhal’s—DNA. Run a test against the blood from the crime scene.” She shrugged. “Should be enough to at least prove that he murdered a proxy along with his wife and daughter.”

                The older man scratched at his salt-and-pepper stubble and looked pensive. “I can get the box from evidence,” he relented. “See what we might still have to work with.”

                “And you can call the son,” Darcy said quickly, slipping in her second suggestion innocently. “If you know where he is.”

                Driscoll wore his conflict somewhere behind his eyes. He clenched his jaw and exhaled against flared nostrils. “Maybe,” he said shortly. “If I can track him down.” He looked back up at Bucky. “Anything else you wanna add?”

                He shook his head. “Darcy has the right idea with the DNA. Tech didn’t exist back then, but it’d be pretty straightforward now.”

                “Yeah, I’ll think about it,” Driscoll grumbled. “You’re dismissed, Barnes.” He called out as Darcy began following him to the door. “Not you, Lewis. I need a word.”

                She forced herself not to look at her watch as she turned back around. Bucky paused at the door. “You don’t have to wait for me,” she assured him. “I’ll just meet you out front.” They waited in silence while Bucky took his leave and quietly closed the door behind him. “What’s up, LT?”

                But Driscoll was digging in his bottom drawer and didn’t seem to hear her. He emerged victoriously a moment later with a thick black notebook. The binding was fat with age and overuse, papers of all shapes and sizes had been stuffed in between the blank pages. She had quirked an eyebrow at the monstrosity by the time he looked up. “You never seen an address book before?”

                She shook her head, almost amused. “Not since I was a kid.”

                He sighed. “Goddamn millennials,” he muttered under his breath with a half-smile of his own before it dropped away and he started flipping through pages. “You’re going to stand right here and watch me follow up on this lead,” he instructed her, pointing to the empty space just in front of his desk “And then you’re getting back to work on something other this bullshit. Got it?”

                “And if it…” she coughed and blinked inoffensively. “If it’s not a dead end?

                He looked her squarely in the eye. “Either way, I’m following up, okay? I don’t want there to be any question about what kind of action was taken. You understand?”

                She dropped her hands into her pockets and nodded. “Yes, sir.”

                He flipped to the page he was looking for and trailed a thick finger down a list of names and phone numbers. He stopped at one and let out a heavy sigh. “What time is it in Santa Monica?”

                She frowned and looked at her watch. “Um…just after four, I guess?”

                “Good,” he grumbled and dragged his desk phone in front of him. He punched the numbers with determination and kept the line open and on speaker phone, presumably so Darcy could hear what transpired for herself. The phone rang four times before a man picked up.

                “Hello?”

                He sounded young—he should have been around Darcy’s age if she’d done the math correctly. Music was playing in the background but it died swiftly as Driscoll cleared his throat. “Mr. Waylon,” he said gruffly. “Sorry to bother you. This is Lieutenant Nick Driscoll with the NYPD. Is this a bad time?”

                “Uh—no,” the young man on the other end of the line stuttered. “No, this is…I can talk now. Sure.”

                “Good,” Driscoll said, grabbing a blank legal pad on his desk and reaching for a pen. “I just have a few questions about—”

                “Wait, did you say Driscoll?” Phil Waylon Jr. interrupted suddenly. “You worked…you were one of the cops on my case, weren’t you?” He paused. “You came to visit me in the hospital.”

                Driscoll fidgeted uncomfortably and hunched his shoulders. “Yeah, that was me. Listen, I just—”

                “Holy shit,” Phil broke in again. Driscoll and Darcy fell silent with a nervous glance between them before the victim continued. “Did you guys find my Batmobile?”


	5. Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everybody's just getting by with a little help from their friends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Who'd have thought that participating in a FYDL drabble challenge every day for two weeks would stimulate my Shieldshock motivation so much?! Seriously this chapter was a breeze and so surprisingly fun to write. I hope you enjoy it, because I enjoy the hell out of all of you.
> 
> *kisses and love and love and kisses*

 

Tony Stark wanted to hang out.

It was the perfect way to end her impossibly shitty week, she decided as she stared at the text with bleary eyes at six am. More troubling than the invitation for her to stop by the tower and have a cup of coffee with him was the time stamp, informing her that he’d sent this at 3:16 in the morning.

Even more troubling was the evidence beneath his invitation that seemed to indicate she’d agreed to this meeting and asked if it could be before she went to work. She vaguely remembered reaching for her phone to make sure it wasn’t a text from dispatch, but everything after that was a blur.

It wasn’t the first time she’d texted coherently in her sleep—once she had managed to sext with Steve for a good twenty minutes before she’d awoken with the phone in her hand, mildly horrified and a little turned on by what she’d written—and it likely wouldn’t be the last, but six-am-Darcy couldn’t help but be a little irritated with middle-of-the-night-Darcy messing with her morning ritual.

She groaned and stumbled her way through brushing her teeth, sticking her contacts in her eyes, and changing her clothes; she checked her reflection and decided quickly that a bun was the kindest she could expect from her hair. Her quick text to Tony, _Hey, is this too early?_ was met with an immediate response _: I never sleep and I’m still on Burma time. You need a car?_ She tiptoed through the living room, stopping in the kitchen to leave a note.

_Meeting across the bridge. Be back for Bucky around 9_

_-D_

She sent a thanks-but-no-thanks text to Tony about the car and grabbed a bus over to midtown.

He was in the top-level R&D lab when she arrived, tinkering with at least ten different projects all at once. Tony Stark was many things, Darcy had to remind herself while she waited for him to look up, least of all was fascinating to watch work. She’d been there for more than a handful of seconds before she cleared her throat and offered a smile when he finally glanced her way. “Hey, Lewis. You’re early.”

She frowned and looked at her watch. “Everything is early,” she commented dryly. “It’s not even seven yet. And why the hell are you on Burma time? What even is Burma time?”

“Burma time,” Tony looked at his watch, “is 6:30pm and I’m on it because I just got back.”

She raised an eyebrow. “And…what were you doing there?”

“I was blowing up the base of operations of a little terrorist group. Rhodey was there too. Mostly for moral support.”

“Any particular reason?”

He shrugged. “I’ve got some issues I’m trying to work through.”

“Understatement of the century,” Darcy said before she offered him a smile. “And I meant that in the nicest way possible.”

“You’re not wrong,” he nodded and set down the soldering iron he’d been fiddling with. “You want some coffee?”

Before she could respond, a robot the size of a Great Dane wheeled over to her and offered a steaming white mug from a clawed arm. “Uh...thanks,” she said and gave the bot a stilted pat on the head. “He’s cute,” she commented mildly before she took a sip and felt her eyes shoot open. “And _wow,_ Tony, that’s basically twelve ounces of espresso. Holy shit. No wonder you don’t sleep.”

He winced. “Sorry. There’s probably cream and sugar somewhere if you want it.”

She shook her head and handed the mug back. “No, I’m good, thanks. So...what’s going on?” she asked after a brief pause between them and the robot scurried away. “What did you want to see me for?”

Tony shrugged and walked his stool around the corner of his work station. “Just...checking in,” he said casually. “Wanted to make sure everything was okay with the best cop I know.”

“I’m the only cop you know,” she reminded him patiently.

“Not true,” he fired back. “I know your friend...Andy—” 

“Eddie,” she corrected.

“That’s what I said,” he shrugged again. “I know him.”

Unimpressed, Darcy folded her arms across her chest and raised her eyebrows. She leaned against the nearest empty table. “Is this about Barnes? And/or those issues you were trying to work through with random acts of violence halfway around the world?”

Tony scoffed and feigned confusion for a few seconds before he dropped the act. “Maybe,” he said, keeping his casual tone. “I also might have heard through the grapevine that you and Frozone have been on the outs since his old boyfriend showed up and I thought I’d see how you’re holding up.”

She sighed and rolled her eyes. “Okay, so I’m going to overlook the fact that this is _so_ none of your business and ask you a really serious question.” Tony gave her an eager grin and raised his eyebrows. “Did you really just make an Incredibles reference?”

“Why?” he asked, giving her a side-eye. “Is that something you’d be into?”

She eyed him steadily. “How long has it been since you’ve slept?”

“Four...maybe five days.” He paused. “Do naps in the shower count?”

“Have you taken any of those?”

“Naps or showers?”

“Either.”

“No.”

Darcy sighed. “Did you call me over here for scientist-wrangling?” she demanded. “Because honestly, I’m a little rusty. And you’re about twice the size of Jane so it seems unlikely I can physically lift you and throw you on something soft and hold you down until you fall asleep. Also—” she added, holding up a hand to stop him from interrupting, “I don’t want to do that ever again, for anyone, so why don’t you just tell me what I’m doing here.”

Tony opened his mouth and closed it again, appearing to consider his words before he spoke. “Your boyfriend kinda pissed me off.”

Darcy scoffed. “Ya don’t say.”

He looked pensive. “I don’t know,” he said, wheeling himself to the corner of the counter so he could lean an elbow on the hard surface. “I’m...just...” he stopped and looked up at her. “You know what he did, right? Barnes? You know what he did?”

She let out a heavy breath.  “Yeah,” she said softly. “I read it when we were looking for him last year.”

He didn’t look at her as he let out a dry, humorless laugh and shook his head. “And you’re just...a-okay with letting a known assassin camp in your living room? Aren’t you supposed to be sworn to uphold the law?”

Darcy dragged a hand over her face. “A known assassin?” she repeated. “No, I wouldn’t be fine with that. But a POW who risked his life to make sure my department has the intel it needs to potentially stop a major threat?” she ducked her head, unsuccessfully trying to meet his eyes. “I don’t know, that feels like it might be worth my time.” When Tony still didn’t look at her, she sighed again and grabbed the nearest stool, wheeling it over to him to sit and be at eye level. “No one on this _planet_ begrudges you feeling the way you do about what happened to your parents,” she said seriously, letting her hand fall on his arm. “And no one is going to try to tell you what those feelings should be.”

He squinted one eye and gave her a sideways look. “Kinda feels like that’s what you’re winding up to do, here.”

She shook her head. “You should be angry,” she insisted. “And hurt. And sad and all those other messy things you spent the last thirty years pretending you weren’t feeling.” She offered him a sad smile and picked up the nearest tool within her grasp--a standard hammer with a red wooden handle. “But if I slammed this hammer into your face, are you going to blame me? Or pick a fight with the hammer?”

Tony gave her another side-eye. “Flawed metaphor, Lewis. I don't have the same feeling for my face that I did for my parents.”

She snorted. “Tell that to your impeccably man-scaped goatee.”

It was another few moments of pensive silence before Tony allowed himself a small smile. “Fair enough,” he conceded, the smile vanished as quickly as it had appeared. “But you can't expect me to like him.”

“Nobody expects you to like him, Tony,” she assured him. “You don't even have to talk to him if you don't want to. But put the blame where it belongs.” She waited for him to look at her before she added, “On the bad guys.”

Tony looked at her for a long moment before he shook his head with another sad smile. “Does Cap know how lucky he is? Cause you're just... _way_ too good for him.”

Darcy rolled her eyes and stood up. “I need to get to work. Are you going to be okay?”

He waved her concern away. “Just enough angst to keep me brooding and mysterious,” he assured her with a smile that didn't quite meet his eyes. “Thanks for the pep talk, coach.”

She'd made it almost to the door before she stopped and turned around. “And Tony?”

“Yes, officer?”

“Get some sleep.”

 

***

 

Her stomach was rumbling by the time she got off the bus in front of her apartment. She wondered, with a pang that had very little to do with hunger, if Steve had made breakfast. He had yesterday, she reminded herself as a smile stole across her face before she could stop it. He’d saved just enough spicy scrambled eggs for her to pile onto a slice of wheat toast and eat on the way to work.

Darcy frowned again as she started up the stairs. It had only been a week since Bucky had sauntered into her precinct but it felt like a month. Like a month since she’d felt good about being at home, since she’d woken up tangled up with Steve, breathing in the smell of his soft t-shirts, since they’d said more than a handful of words to each other.

It wasn’t all-out war in their apartment. She still did all the laundry, resisting the urge to just pick out her own clothes from the basket and leave the rest for him. He’d still bought her favorite snacks when he went grocery shopping the night before, even though she’d hadn’t been speaking to him to ask. Things weren’t unbearable. They were just cold. And if she was being honest, she missed him. A lot.

She could hear the rise and fall of voices and smell the coffee through the door. The conversation petered to a halt as she turned her keys in the lock. She pushed open the door to find Steve and Bucky in the kitchen, the remnants of pleasant conversation still hanging between them as they ate their cereal. She held up a hand in greeting. “Hey.”

Bucky nodded and threw a brief smile in her direction. “Hey.”

“There’s coffee,” Steve said, motioning toward the counter.

She nodded and made a bee-line for it. “Thanks”

Her spoon clinking against the sides of her mug and the chewing and crunching of cereal were the only sounds until Steve broke the silence and cleared his throat. “Your meeting go okay?”

She nodded again. “Yeah, it was fine,” she shrugged. “Tony just wanted to talk some stuff out.”

Steve’s expression folded into one of confusion. “Your meeting was with Tony?”

Unwillingly, Darcy felt her hackles raise. “Yes...”

“Tony Stark?”

“The one and only,” she answered dryly.

He still looked confused. “What do you and Tony have to talk about at six in the morning?”

She frowned. “He just wanted to get my opinion on a few things,” she said before adding, “if that’s okay with you.”

Bucky started eating faster.

As soon as Steve’s expression changed, Darcy regretted her last sentence. He looked hurt for a moment before that gave way to annoyance. “I just didn’t realize you guys were so friendly,” he said, a distinct edge to his voice.

“Well maybe if you checked in with the people in your life before making radical, sweeping decisions that affect them, you’d realize a lot of things,” Darcy countered, setting down her coffee. Every part of her heaved a heavy sigh. She didn’t want to do this right now. She didn’t want to be snappy and defensive and be the reason Steve looked so irritated. But she didn’t want to roll over and show her belly either. There was still a very large part of her that was waiting for an apology for how he’d acted at the precinct. And a small, nervous part that was uncertain she was ever going to get it.

“I’m not going to apologize to everyone in my life every time I make a decision they might not like,” Steve said and shook his head in disbelief. “Jesus, forgive me for being curious as to what you and my teammate might have to chat about.”

Bucky set his spoon down and brought his bowl to his lips, gulping down the leftover milk.

Darcy felt her eyebrows lift. “Oh, _I_ understand,” she said with a fake, complacent smile, “you’re just worried I might be overstepping my boundaries?” she guessed. “Perhaps throwing my weight around where I don’t have any business? Maybe even going so far as to threaten your boss and embarrass you in _your_ workplace?” She shook her head and dropped her smile. “Don’t worry, sweetheart, I wouldn’t dream of it.”

Neither of them noticed Bucky get up from the counter and deposit his bowl in the sink before slinking quickly from the kitchen.

Steve raked a hand through his hair. “If you think for a minute that you had any chance of keeping Bucky out of prison that night on your own--”

“Well we’ll never know now, will we? Because you just couldn’t resist breaking down the door and making sure everyone knows you’re the boss.”

“I’ve stayed out of it, haven’t I?” he asked getting to his feet. “I’ve stayed as far away from this whole thing as I can while still living with the two of you--I mean, Jesus, I haven’t even asked you about it.”

Bucky had appeared at her side, holding out her bag and badge. “You’re gonna be late,” he said plainly. Darcy sighed and snatched her things with a little more intensity than she wanted to direct his way. Bucky glanced between the two of them and frowned. “I’ll be in the cab.”

“Don’t worry about it,” she said, dropping her cell phone into her purse and throwing the strap over her shoulder. “We’re done, anyway.”

Bucky glanced between them again. “You don’t seem done.”

“Nope,” Steve clipped, dropping his bowl into the sink with a heavy clatter of metal and ceramic. “Completely done. Go to work.”

She wanted to slam the door on her way out, but the calm, collected little _click_ it made as she pulled it shut felt almost as good.

“You should’ve left it open,” Bucky muttered as they clomped down the stairs together.

She glanced over, confused. “Where’s the satisfaction in that?”

The corner of his mouth curled into a smile. “The satisfaction comes from knowing Steve was expecting you to slam it, and now he’s gonna have to drop whatever he was doing to get up and close it himself.”

She fought the smile that came over her lips. “Fuck,” she said under her breath.

He raised his eyebrows. “It’s good, right?”

She shook her head. “It’s too good.”

They made three unsuccessful attempts to get a cab before giving up and making the trip to the precinct on foot. “But look, all things considered,” Bucky began as they started their walk, “you could ease up on him a little bit.”

She rolled her eyes. “I really don’t need you to play mediator,” she reminded him firmly.

“He’s not a bad guy, once you get to know him,” Bucky continued as if she hadn’t spoken. “C’mon...at least let him sleep on the floor in _your_ room for a change.”

She cracked a smile. “Is that what this is about? You just want your own space?”

“I don’t remember him talking so much in ‘43,” he said, pausing while Darcy snorted a laugh. “And it’s not like I didn’t miss him but Christ almighty, is there no space for silent contemplation anymore?” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. “Do you mind?”

“Yes,” she said in exasperation. “Please stop smoking, Bucky. It’s really bad for you--and it’s gross.”

It was his turn to roll his eyes. “I’m coming off a lot of bad behaviors, Darce, let me have this one.”

“I don’t want to smell like an ashtray,” she insisted, pleased when he put the pack and lighter back in his pocket. “Thank you. I’ll buy you a nicotine patch.”

“Get me a set of earplugs while you’re at it,” he grumbled. “The Steve I _used_ to sleep next to didn’t snore like a goddamn freight train.”

She stifled another smile as they crossed the street.

 

***

 

Sam raised an eyebrow almost immediately when Steve entered Natasha’s apartment and took his usual seat amidst the clutter. “You okay?” he asked after a moment of silence had passed over them.

“Fine,” Steve said shortly, picking up the pile he’d been working on the day before.

Sam and Natasha exchanged glances.

She cleared her throat. “You want some coffee?”

“No,” he clipped before adding, “thank you.”

They all shuffled their papers for another minute before Sam leaned forward and picked up another file from the coffee table. “Working in silence it is,” he said with another glance in Natasha’s direction. She shrugged. “No problem with that.”

Another aggressively silent five minutes crawled along before Steve finally set down his paperwork and looked up to find two sets of concerned expressions staring him down. “No,” he said accusingly. “We haven’t made up yet.”

“We figured that out,” Natasha assured him.

Steve ran a hand over his face. “And we had another fight this morning which…” he sighed. “I don’t know whose fault that was but it definitely didn’t resolve anything.”

Sam let out a low whistle. “Man, you’ve gotta stop fucking up,” he said, shaking his head. “You’re a lot more fun to be around when you’re getting laid on the regular.”

Steve rolled his eyes. “I shouldn’t have brought this up,” he said, getting to his feet.

“No, c’mon, sit down,” Natasha commanded, pointing to the couch like he was a dog. “What was the fight this morning about?”

He shook his head. “I don’t know. I thought I was making conversation and the next thing I know, we’re yelling at each other.”

She looked curious. “What were you trying to make conversation about?”

“She left at the crack of dawn this morning for a meeting here with Tony—”

“ _Our_ Tony?” Natasha asked.

“Yeah, exactly,” he motioned to her reaction with conviction. “Didn’t make sense to me either. And then when I asked her about it when she came home, she got really defensive and practically bit my head off about it.”

His friends looked at each other again before Sam shifted in his chair. “How’d you ask her about it?”

He looked confused. “What do you mean?”

“Did you use that voice?” Natasha asked.

“What voice?” Steve asked. “I only have one voice.” Their eyes shot towards each other and he felt his blood rise. “Stop it,” he commanded. “I hate it when you do that.” He paused and frowned. “Is that the voice? Do I always sound like that?”

Sam shook his head. “No, man, but sometimes you slip into it without realizing. Especially when you’re on edge.”

“And if that’s how you sounded when you asked Darcy about Tony…” Natasha grimaced. “No wonder she bit your head off.”

He sighed and glanced around the apartment. “Maybe I should just crash here for a night and regroup in the morning.”

She shrugged. “Fine by me,” she said, just as Sam shook his head again.

“That’s a bad idea.”

“I’m having a lot of those lately,” Steve muttered and pulled the paperwork back into his lap. “Forget I said anything. Let’s just keep working on this—it’s important.”

He could tell they were resisting the urge to exchange another concerned glance as they dropped their heads and got back to work.

 

Sam held off cornering him until later in the afternoon. Natasha was on the phone with Maria and Steve had wandered in to the kitchen to see if she’d made any of her homemade granola bars recently. Sam pulled open the fridge for a bottle of water and handed one to him before he could ask.

“You know you’ve gotta apologize, right?” he asked, without preamble.

Steve sighed. “Sam…”

“I’m serious, man. This has gone on long enough,” he said seriously. “Man up and admit that you were a dick.”

“I was trying to keep Bucky out of a federal prison—”

“So you were a dick with strong convictions,” he said with a shrug. “Didn’t make you any less of a dick.”

Steve frowned. “Can you stop calling me a dick, please?”

Sam considered this with a thoughtful tilt of his head. He pursed his lips and leaned against the counter. “I’m gonna say something, alright? And I want you to really think about it.”

Steve leaned against the opposite counter and crossed his arms over his chest. “Okay,” he said genuinely. “I’m listening.”

“Day before Riley died,” Sam set his bottle of water on the counter and crossed his arms too. “He and his girl had a big blow-up over Skype.” He shook his head. “Dumbass said something stupid and Tori got mad and slammed her computer down and,” he shrugged. “I never got the details. But he felt bad about it, so the next morning, he emailed his sister and got her to order some flowers and had ‘em sent to her office a couple days later, as a surprise.” He shook his head. “Anyway, because of how things worked out,” Sam paused and looked down at the ground. “Tori didn’t get those flowers until after she found out he was dead.”

Steve blew out a heavy breath and felt his own head shake. “That’s bad luck.”

When he looked up again, Sam was waiting to meet his eyes. “Darcy’s a police officer,” he reminded needlessly. “And you’re Captain America.”

He raised his eyebrows with a look of weary expectation. “And…?”

“ _And_ you fell in love with someone who has a job that’s more dangerous than yours,” he said. “You _both_ have a job that—when the shit goes down—you have to run _toward_ the shit. Not away from it everyone else gets to do.” He shook his head. “What the hell are you doing letting her walk out the door every morning thinking that you care more about winning some dumbass argument than you do about her?” When Steve didn’t have anything to say to that, Sam continued. “Riley and Tori? That wasn’t supposed to be the last time they ever talked to each other,” he shrugged. “But shit happens. And you know that better than anyone.”

He left Steve in the kitchen, alone with his very noisy thoughts.

 

***

 

Darcy’s day took off at a gallop almost the second she set foot inside the station. Between the exhumation order and all that went along with Driscoll’s reopening of the Waylon case and him finally allowing her to move on investigating the city council’s files, there was a whole lot of hubbub to distract her from her problems at home.

Darcy felt like she’d spent the entire day with one phone or another pressed to her ear and by the middle of the afternoon, a strong headache had developed right behind her eyes. She was still on the phone with evidence when she made her way into the conference, expecting to find a delivery of town hall paperwork that she could start sifting through as soon as possible.

Instead, she just found Eddie, also on the phone, looking more stressed than usual. “Uh, Casey?” she asked, interrupting the girl who held dominion over the evidence archives. “You’re gonna have to get the case number from Driscoll. Technically it’s his case--he’s taking point. Can I call you back?” Without waiting for an answer, she hung up and the same time as Eddie. “Where’s our shit?”

He ran a hand over his short, stubbly hair. “Million-dollar question,” he grumbled, closing a hand around his phone. “My guess is strategically tied up in the bureaucratic nightmare of city hall.”

She blinked. “They’re denying our request?”

Eddie sighed. “No, that’d be too easy. I’ve been getting the run around about how long it’s going to take to gather all the information and whether this form is filled out according to protocol and blah blah blah for the last hour and a half.” He dropped into a chair and looked at his watch once before covering his face with his hands and groaning in frustration. “And now it’s six o’clock on Friday and what are the odds we’re going to see even a scrap of paper before Monday?”

She wrinkled her nose. “Can they do that? I mean...don’t we have some kind of...power over them to produce these documents? Isn’t that the whole point of us being the ones to make this request?”

He moved his shoulders. “Maybe if it was a legitimate warrant,” he groused. “But this is just a simple request and as long as they can show proof that they’re working on it they can drag their feet all they want.”

“Awesome,” she sighed and dropped into the chair next to him.

He looked at her sideways. “What are you still doing here, anyway?”

She raised an eyebrow. “Currently being waylaid by the man,” she said, making him smile. “But otherwise, y’know, doing my job. What are you still doing here?”

Eddie rolled his eyes. “I mean Driscoll let Barnes go home an hour ago; I figured you went with him.”

She sat up. “Huh?”

He shrugged. “He said to tell you he was heading out but I figured you’d be right behind him so I didn’t mention it.”

Her face twisted in confusion. “But Barnes is _my_ informant,” she insisted. “Driscoll can’t just send him home whenever he feels like it.”

Eddie’s shoulders moved again. “I mean, technically he can. All of our CIs are Driscoll’s CIs and he can send them wherever he wants.”

“Well shit,” she grumbled, getting to her feet. “Would’ve been nice for either of them to mention it to me.”

“LT’s still here,” Eddie assured her. “Go give him a piece of your mind.”

Driscoll looked up when she let herself into his office. “What are you doing here, Lewis?” his eyebrows swooped toward one another. “I thought I sent you home with Barnes.”

“You only told one half of our dynamic duo.”

He looked concerned. “So Barnes left on his own?”

“It appears that way,” she said before she added, “I’m sure he just went home—probably wanted some time to himself.”

“Should we track him to be safe?”

Darcy shook her head. “He’s fine. If he’s not at the apartment when I get back, I’ll activate his little chip and it’ll all be cool.”

“You sure about that?”

She rolled her eyes. “Positive,” she said before launching into her next point. “Also, I know you grabbed him to give you more details on Waylon today, but I’m going to need him back with me on Monday so we can start making headway on these files. Y’know,” she faltered, “assuming they ever show up.”

“City hall being a bag of dicks about it?”

Darcy blinked. “Not the descriptor I would’ve used in a professional setting but,” she shrugged, “you’re not wrong. Kimball’s been on the phone with them for a while but they’ve stopped taking calls.”

He looked at his watch. “Yeah, six o’clock’ll do that for you. Speaking of, are you getting out of here?”

She shrugged. “I was thinking about it. Why, you need something?” she asked, hoping she didn’t sound too desperate for a job, something to keep her at the station until later. Much later. When Steve had already gone to sleep and she could avoid talking about their fight for another day.

He shook his head as he reached into the top drawer of his desk. “No,” he said and produced a glossy test prep book and tossed it onto the desk between them. “But you’re gonna need that.”

Darcy picked it up with a gleeful smile she couldn’t control. “Detective’s exam?” she asked, reading the title out loud as she flipped through the pages excitedly. “Really?”

“Really,” Driscoll said, a small smile on his face. “You’re doing the work, Lewis. I’m proud of you. Don’t let this mess with Barnes drag you down though, alright? Exam’s right before Christmas--none of my detectives have ever had to take it more than once, understood?”

She nodded quickly. “Yes, sir. Thank you.”

“Good,” he nodded again. “Now go spend your weekend studying. I’m going to be quizzing you and Kimball from now until you pass.”

She smiled her first genuine smile in almost a week. “Absolutely,” she said squeezing her hands tight around the book. “I really appreciate it.”

 

Her smile didn’t fade until she was on the bus and it occurred to her that all she really wanted to do was burst through the door and tell Steve what Driscoll had said, maybe jump up and down with excitement and listen to him tell her how proud he was.

But any of that seemed unlikely, given how they’d left things that morning. Her stomach had twisted into a guilty knot by the time she disembarked the bus that only got worse the closer she got to home.

She paused outside the door for the second time that day and listened for the sounds of conversation inside. This time it was unexpectedly quiet. She unlocked the door and pushed it open, surprised to find the living room and kitchen empty. A sheet of yellow paper had been ripped from one of her legal pads and taped to the counter of the breakfast bar.

_I can’t watch you two fight anymore. I’m staying at Wilson’s for the next few days. It’s come to that._

_Talk to each other. For all our sakes._

_-Bucky_

_PS: Wilson’s and my hatred of each other is_ NOT _an act. Work it out._

Darcy reread the note a few times, a half-smile stuck on her face as she shook her head with a cynical laugh. She left the paper on the counter along with her bag and kicked her shoes in the direction of the door.

The bedroom door was halfway open when Darcy reached the end of the hall. She pushed it the rest of the way, surprised to find Steve sitting on the edge of their bed, elbows on his knees, hands folded pensively in front of his face. She swallowed hard and raised a hand when he looked up. “Hey.”

“Hey,” he echoed, the harshness she’d heard in his voice all week finally gone.

The knot in her stomach unclenched a tiny bit as she motioned with her head toward the kitchen. “See the note our houseguest left us?”

Steve offered a faint smile. “Yeah, I already check with Sam—he’s there.” He paused and smiled again. “I don’t think anyone’s happy about it.”

Darcy pressed a knee into Steve’s side of the mattress and took a tentative seat on the edge of the bed. “I’m…kind of happy about it,” she admitted softly.

Steve pressed his lips together and shifted so he was facing her. “You know I love you more than anything in the world, right?”

She sighed and nodded slowly. “Yeah,” she said and swallowed again. “I know. But…y’know, saying that doesn’t make up for—”

“I know,” he said quickly. “I know that. I just…” he let out a breath, looking almost nervous. “I just wanted to make sure you know that before I said anything else.”

She smiled sadly. “I’ve always known that, Steve.”

“Good,” he said, the word coming out as a breath of relief.

“That’s what makes fighting with you so frustrating,” she said. “’Cause if I didn’t love you—or if I thought you didn’t love me—it wouldn’t hurt so much when…” she trailed off, trying to think of a way to remind him of what had hurt her without reigniting the anger she was still feeling.

“I was wrong,” Steve said, pulling her thoughts to an abrupt halt. “I had no right to barge into that room and talk to your commanding officer like that.”

Darcy blinked in surprised. “No,” she said carefully. “You didn’t.”

It was his turn to sigh as he ran a hand over his face. “I just…I don’t know. I saw Morrison put those handcuffs on Bucky and I just…”

“You lost it,” she finished for him. He looked up, guilty, and she nodded. “I know. I understand why you did it. I just…” she shrugged. “I wish you hadn’t. It’s hard enough being a woman in the NYPD, Steve. I don’t need the men I work with thinking that I need my superhero boyfriend fighting my battles for me.”

“I know,” he said regretfully. “And you have to know that’s the last thing I think—that you weren’t capable of handling things or that you’re not good at your job or anything like that.”

Darcy bit her lip. “That being said,” she proceeded with caution toward the other part of what had been eating at her all week. “I think…you were right,” she said haltingly. “About what you said this morning.” Steve frowned in confusion before she continued. “I don’t think I had a chance of keeping Bucky out of prison on my own,” she admitted. Her hair fell into her face as she dropped her gaze down toward her hands, twisting nervously in her lap. She looked up with another shrug. “He needed you to do what you did.”

Steve gave her a rueful half-smile. “Doesn’t make it right.”

 “Nope,” she shook her head. “Sure doesn’t. But I feel better hearing you say that.”

“Darcy, I don’t wanna fight anymore,” he said quietly, looking up at her with a heartbreakingly hopeful look in his eye. “I miss you.”

She felt a lump in her throat. “I miss you too.”

“And the last thing I want is for something to happen and you to think I cared more about being right than I care about you.”

Her vision blurred for a second before she blinked quickly and shook her head. “I don’t want that either.”

Steve got up from where he’d been sitting and came to sit next to her. “I’m so sorry about everything,” he said reaching out tentatively to push her hair back behind her ear. “I don’t ever want to do that to you again.”

Her heart hammered in her throat at the feeling of his fingertips against her skin, at being close enough to smell him and feel the familiar warmth radiating from him. “I’m sorry too,” she said softly, reaching up to hold his arm, to keep his hand against her face. “I don’t want to feel like we’re not on the same team anymore.”

Steve brought his other hand to her cheek and held her face gently, running his thumb softly over her lips. “Is it okay if I kiss you?”

Darcy let out a wet laugh as a tear escaped her eyes and she nodded. “Yes, please.”

She’d barely gotten the words out before Steve dropped his head and covered her lips with his. It seemed ridiculous to have missed something so simple so much, but as soon as his lips touched hers, Darcy felt like she’d come home after being away for too long. She wound her arms around Steve’s neck and kept him close, not minding at all when he sank one hand into her hair and deepened their kiss with a low groan in the back of his throat. She felt his fingers tangling in her curls for a moment before he pulled at her bun and let her dark, messy tresses fall over her shoulders.

Their kisses were slow and sweet, but Darcy could feel the hunger simmering just beneath the surface. She couldn’t ignore the heat pooling in her belly and her need for more of Steve’s lips, the need to feel his skin against hers.

“So Bucky’s really at Sam’s?” she asked, tilting her head when he began trailing kisses down her neck. She felt him nod and slip his hands under her clothes.

“Mmhmm.” Her shirt was pushed up and over her head, tossed aside in a matter of moments. “Just you and me, kiddo,” he said, glancing up at her with a grin. “Hope that’s okay.”

She could tell he wanted to continue his kisses over her chest, her collarbone and lower, but Darcy ducked her head and crushed their lips together, pulling apart just long enough to pull his shirt off and toss it on top of hers. She reconnected with him and opened her mouth hungrily when his tongue slipped between her lips. Not breaking the kiss, she leaned backward and pulled him with her.

He was always so careful not to rest his full weight on top of her; relaxing just enough to make her feel warm and safe while keeping his arms caged protectively around her. Darcy scraped her nails over his back a few times, relishing the ungoverned moans the simple action pulled from him. Her own moan turned into a giggle when he pulled away to suck on the skin just below her ear and she squirmed. “That tickles,” she admitted with another laugh when he nuzzled her neck again.

“I’ll shave later,” he said, smiling against her skin, sliding his hand up her side to palm her breast with one hand.

“Hmm-mm,” Darcy hummed, shaking her head. She wrapped her legs around him, wanting to feel him pressing against her through their clothing. “I like the scruff.”

Steve grinned again reached behind her to unclasp her bra with one hand. He pulled away to remove the silky barrier and immediately began a trail of kisses that started at her jaw and wandered down her throat, to the hollow of her neck and clavicle, and finally down further. He swirled his tongue around the pebbled tip of one nipple while pinching the other with expert fingers that knew exactly what she liked. Darcy arched against him as he switched sides and lavished the other with attention. She gasped and wrapped her legs tighter when he grazed her skin with his teeth. “That,” she said, her voice just above a whisper. “Do that again.”

“Yes ma’am,” Steve said, a smile still in his voice. He ran his teeth over her nipple again, clutching it gently between his jaw; she cried out when he matched the pressure and sensation with his fingers on the other.

She bit back a sigh when he resumed his soft, almost lazy kisses, meandering from her breasts to the valley between them and down in the hollow of her ribcage. His hands stilled for a moment at the buckle of her belt before he glanced up and she nodded. “Take them off,” she insisted, wanting to savor the way Steve undressed her. Slowly and reverently and so unlike the utilitarian way she got rid of her own clothes. He kissed her belly and unbuckled her belt, sliding it from the loops and tossing it on the ground with a soft _clink_ before he undid the buttons of her jeans. He slid them slowly over her hips and down her legs, trailing his fingers softly over her skin, leaving a trail of goosebumps and sending a chill all the way up her spine.

Darcy had to muffle her moan in the pillow next to her when his fingers slipped beneath the waistband of her panties and slid slowly, painstakingly into the warmth between her legs. He moaned against her belly when he dipped his fingers inside of her and swirled around the sensitive bundle of nerves, making her buck her hips against his hand, desperate for him to keep touching her. Too soon, though, he pulled his hand away and she let out a groan of frustration. Steve kissed her again, pulling her close against him with one hand while the other slid her underwear down until she could kick them aside. He ran his hands down over her legs and gave her knees a quick tug, pulling her flat onto her back before he lowered himself between her thighs.

“Fuck, I missed you,” she gasped softly and let her head fall back, her eyes closed.

She felt him smile as he let his fingers trail gently over her legs and the backs of her knees. “Missed you too,” he all but growled against her, the vibration of his voice short-circuiting any other thought she might have had.

She clamped her lips shut and swallowed her moan into a whimper as he traced his tongue upward, just barely brushing over her clit. She was growing wetter everywhere his tongue roamed, and she let her head drop back again when he wrapped his arms around her thighs and yanked her closer, digging his fingers into the soft flesh of her hips. Already, there was the warm, familiar clenching sensation coiling in her belly, begging for deeper kisses, longer touches.

Faster. Harder. _More._

Her hips bucked upward when he added a finger, moving in tiny circles, making it harder for her to control the sounds coming out of her mouth. She felt too close for him to be teasing her like this; he began alternating with his tongue and his fingers and just when she was certain that one more movement from either would send the ripples of pleasure rolling through her body, he would switch to the other and recoil all her frustration all over again. It was exquisite and painful and making her dizzy with need. His tongue moved back and forth over her sensitive skin sometimes pausing so he could suck lightly at her center.

It was too much; so many sensations all at once, and one final brush of Steve’s tongue sent her over the edge; he drove two fingers into her, pulling another deep moan from her throat while she pulsed around him and he continued to rub circles with his tongue.

The need to feel more than just his fingers inside of her was too much. Overwhelming. Still reeling from her own release, Darcy tugged lightly on Steve’s hair and pulled him away from her too-sensitive clit. “Come here,” she said softly, relishing the way he pressed a trail of kisses up her stomach and chest until he could press his lips to hers. She felt her heart rate returning to normal as he pushed a stray curl out of her eyes and propped himself up on one arm to look at her. She bit back a guilty smile. “What?”

He shook his head and brushed the back of his fingers against her cheek. “I’m just looking at you,” he insisted gently, leaning down to kiss her again.

Darcy grinned against his lips. “You’re looking at me with too many clothes on, sir,” she said when they parted and reached for the top button of his jeans. “I need to do something about that.”

Steve was only too happy to help her rid him of the final barriers between them. With the rest of his clothes discarded, he returned his mouth to hers. Darcy wrapped her legs around his waist again and rolled them so that she was on top, straddling him.

His eyes widened and his mouth opened to moan before she covered it with her own, swallowing the sounds he made and holding them tight in her lungs as she slid down onto him, fully sheathing him inside of her. Steve pulled himself up to sitting took a moment, desperately wanting to move, to run his hands over her again. He held her close, loving the way she felt and tasted and smelled and the way she wrapped her arms tightly around his neck, allowing him a minute to bury his face in her hair and breathe deeply of the minty smell of her shampoo. After a moment, his hands wandered down and gripped her hips as she began to rock back and forth, guiding her movements, lifting his hips to grind into hers.

She pushed her hair back from her face and locked her eyes with his. “Good?” she breathed, digging her nails into his shoulders. He could only make a sound that he hoped she took to be positive. She must have, he figured, because she began circling her hips around him, creating a whole new kind of friction between them that sent his eyes rolling back in his head.

“So…fucking...good,” he murmured, dropping his head to get his lips on her breasts again. She arched her back with a hiss and moved her hips faster.

This went on and on, pushing and pulling, sliding and groaning into one another’s mouths until he couldn’t take any more. He slid his hands up her back and hooked over her shoulders, securing her in place while he increased their rhythm. He beat his hips against hers, thrusting up harder and causing her thighs to split open wider.

“Oh God, Steve,” she whimpered against his ear.

Hearing his name spill from her lips, with her hair disheveled and her cheeks flushed and sweaty was too much for him. He came with a cry and gradually slowed his movements, pulsing inside of her and pressing his lips to her neck when her head fell back and she joined him in his release after a few artful strokes of his fingers. Her skin was sweaty and her pulse beat wildly against his mouth. She whimpered again when he pulled out and collapsed onto his back. Thoroughly spent.

Still on top of him, aching in all the right places, Darcy leaned forward and rested her chin on his chest, looking up at him through her long, dark eyelashes. Her cheeks were still a pleasant shade of pink as she offered him a sleepy smile. “Mmm, that was fun,” she said and pressed a kiss to his chest.

He pushed his hands into her hair and mirrored her sleepy grin. “Kinda makes a case for fighting more,” he said, happy when he felt her giggle.

“No more fighting,” she insisted, rolling to lay next to him and rest her head on his shoulder. “Just more of this.”

Steve turned his head to kiss her forehead and savored the little hum of contentment the act pulled from her. “You’ve got it, sweetheart,” he said softly. “Just more of this.”


	6. Six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More and more pieces of the puzzle and less and less things making sense

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woof. That took longer than expected. Apologies if anyone was waiting for this chapter with bated breath but I was writing other things (fluffy things. Christmas things. You'll see soon enough.) and I totally lost my focus with this fic. Thankfully it's NaNo so I have a crazy insane reason to pour as many words as possible into this bad boy and hope it works out for the best. As always, Amerna gets a huge hunk of credit as she was literally the only one who could remind me where I left off when I resumed this fic. *blows kisses*

Eddie was already at work by the time she and Bucky arrived on Monday. He looked up from his computer and eyed her with a sly smile. “What’s up, killer?” he asked, raising his eyebrows. 

She met his gaze cautiously. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

His smile stayed in place. “Rosy cheeks, spring in your step, taking your time coming into work today...” 

She shrugged good-naturedly. “I’m just in a good mood, Kimball. It’s not national news.”

“I’m just commenting on what I see,” he said, holding up his hands defensively. “Which is a nice change from the big old bag of mad I was sitting across from all last week.” He grinned again. “I take it you had a good weekend?”

“I did,” she said dropping her bag into her bottom desk drawer with a roll of her eyes. Good was an understatement, if she was being honest. Bucky hadn’t returned from Sam’s until Sunday afternoon, giving Steve and Darcy all the time in the world to truly and thoroughly make up. It had been almost two whole days without cellphone interruptions, all food being ordered in, and almost all the make-up sex she could want. “And how was yours?”

“It was great,” Eddie answered right away, leaning back in his chair. “Becca and Shawn went to visit her mom for the weekend so I was king of my castle for two whole days.”

Darcy grinned as she flipped idly through the mail on her desk. “You play video games in your underwear all weekend?”

“I played _so many_ video games in my underwear,” he agreed, giddy at the memory. Out of the corner of her eye, Darcy caught Bucky’s failed attempt to smother a smile as he shrugged out of his jacket and Eddie continued. “Oh, and there’s a present waiting for you two in the temp office.”

She blinked. “A present?” she repeated before motioning between herself and Bucky. “For us?”

“Well,” Eddie got to his feet. “It’s a present if you really love sifting through paperwork and finding a needle in a haystack which,” he gave Darcy a genuine smile, “I know you really, truly do.” 

She gasped. “City hall released their documents?”

“Some of them,” Eddie warned. “Don’t get your hopes up.” 

“Too late,” she insisted, waving for Bucky to follow her. “Hopes are up. We’re going to find something and catch a bunch of bad guys and Driscoll’s going to be so impressed he’ll be like, ‘Forget that detective’s exam, Lewis! Here’s your shield right now’.”

Her partner frowned. “That seems unlikely.”

“Let the girl dream, Kimball,” Bucky commented, shaking his head.

Eddie rolled his eyes. “I _mean_ it seems unlikely you’re going to find what you’re looking for in what they sent you.” He had followed them both to the abandoned office where’d they’d set up their operation last week and watched as Darcy’s shoulders fell at the sight of what had been delivered that morning.

“One envelope?” she asked, coming dangerously close to whining. She crossed to the table and swiped up the thick yellow interoffice envelope and unwound the red string from the back. “Seriously?”

Eddie shrugged. “They promised they’d send more this afternoon, if that’s any consolation.”

She sighed and looked into the envelope with a frown. “It’s better than nothing, I guess,” she muttered, dropping into the chair that faced away from their big board. “Grab a seat Barnes. Let’s see if anything looks like it might play into all this,” she wiggled her fingers over her shoulder at all of their intel so far.

“You’re the boss,” her cohort conceded and grabbed the opposing seat.

“I wish,” Darcy scoffed before she wrinkled her nose. “Ew, no I don’t. So much paperwork.” She removed the thick stack of papers from the envelope and divided it evenly between the two of them. She glanced up to see Eddie still leaning in the door. “Are you helping?”

He shook his head. “No, I’ve gotta go with Ramirez on that stabbing from last week. LT says you can tap me in once you catch a lead so...” he motioned to their pile of papers with his chin, “catch one soon.”

Darcy rolled her eyes. “No, I’m going to purposefully drag this out just to keep you from helping us,” she muttered.

Kimball grinned. “There’s that salty sea dog I know and love.”

The door swung shut, leaving them in silence for a moment before Bucky cleared his throat. “Did he just call you a sea dog?”

She grinned. “He did,” she assured him before her eyes dropped to the papers in front of her. She frowned and leafed through the stack, her heart sinking as she realized every sheet was almost identical. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

Bucky glanced up. “Are yours all the same?”

“It’s just contractor bids,” she groaned. “All from the same three companies!”

“I only have Apollo Consulting and Construction,” he said with a thoughtful frown. “Who’ve you got?”

She flipped through her stack. “It looks like I’ve got Apollo, Augustina Contractor Services, and Arliss Electrical Design.” She glanced up. “Any of those ringing a bell?”

Bucky mirrored her nod around a frown of his own. The lines dug deeper on his forehead. “Maybe a little?”

Darcy leaned back in her chair and let her head hang backward. “Those dicks,” she muttered. “Almost a year of purchase orders and requests and proposals and _this_ is all they decide to send us?” She dropped her attention forward again, noticing that Bucky’s expression had grown pensive. “What’s up?”

“I feel like I’ve heard at least one of those names before,” he said, his lips still pressed in a tight line of concentration. “But I’m not sure where.”

She opened her mouth to respond when a flash of familiar red caught her eye. She glanced up and around Bucky, surprised to find Natasha breezing through the back hall of her precinct. “What the hell...” she said softly, getting to her feet.

“What?” Bucky asked, following her with his eyes as she pulled open the door.

He didn’t follow her as she made her way down the hall and back into the bull pen. When she glanced back over her shoulder, he’d stayed put. Darcy frowned and turned back in her quest, surprised to find the object of her search standing directly in front of her. She recoiled in surprise. “Hey.”

Natasha smiled without showing her teeth. “Hey,” she echoed with a casual nod, her hands in the pockets of her short leather jacket. “What’s up?”

Darcy narrowed her eyes and tilted her head to one side. “Just…work…” she said slowly. “What are you doing here? Is Steve okay?”

“Steve?” Natasha repeated. “Steve’s fine, I assume. I haven’t talked to him today.” She shook her head. “No, I was just in the neighborhood,” Natasha shrugged. “Thought I’d say hi.”

Her head stayed tilted. “What were you doing in the neighborhood?”

“Making a citizen’s arrest,” she said with a quick glance over her shoulder. A burly guy in his thirties was seated at Mulligan’s desk, rubbing the side of his neck with his single free hand. His other was cuffed to the chair and he kept glancing nervously over his shoulder at the two of them.

“I’m almost afraid to ask…”

“We had an unfortunate meeting on the subway,” she said, eying him steadily. “He wouldn’t take his hand off my ass.”

“Well,” Darcy turned her attention back to Natasha, “the NYPD thanks you for getting another disgusting predator off the streets for a few hours.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “I'm a little surprised you didn't just break his hand,” she admitted.

Natasha blinked. “Would you prefer that? I thought I'd give the criminal justice system a try for a change.” Her eyes moved past Darcy's face and over her shoulder for a brief moment before she cleared her throat and motioned for Darcy to turn around with a twitch of her eyebrows.

Bucky stood in the doorway of the bullpen, looking as uncomfortable as the first time he had visited. Darcy felt her stomach twist at the sight of his unease. She offered what she hoped was a comforting smile. “What's up?”

“Apollo Consulting,” he said, with a jerk of his head toward their office. “When I was going over Jared Griffin’s past cases. That's where I remembered the name from.” His eyes were pulled away from her and back over to Natasha. He frowned. “What are you doing here?”

“My part in keeping the streets of Brooklyn safe for democracy,” she said without a hint of irony. “Oh, and Wilson says you owe him a new toothbrush.”

The corner of Bucky's lips betrayed his discomfort and twitched into the quickest of smirks before he resumed his usual impassive expression. “You can tell Wilson to go fuck himself.”

Natasha's face remained unreadable. “I probably won't,” she said, tucking her hands back into her pockets. “So how's it going, anyway?” she asked, her tone switching to something more conversational. “Any breaks in the case?”

“We've still got so much to--”

“No,” Bucky said firmly, cutting off Darcy's attempt to explain their lack of progress.

Natasha nodded once, her lips pursed. “Well then, I'll let you get back to it.” She glanced back at her detainee and then back to Darcy. “I think I have to give my statement anyway. It was good seeing you...” she said before her lips dipped into a small frown, “both,” she finished softly.

Darcy turned around and sighed. Bucky had disappeared back down the hall. “Sorry,” she muttered, shaking her head. “He...does that.”

Natasha offered her a half-smile. “I know,” she said softly.

“I should...”

“Yeah, of course,” her smile was fuller this time. “Good luck.”

“Thanks,” Darcy returned her smile and backed up a few steps toward the hallway before she stopped. “Oh, and off the record? Anyone who grabs someone's ass on the subway deserves to have his hand broken.”

Natasha's grin became genuine. “I agree,” she said with a little salute before she turned back to the bullpen.

Her smile had faded by the time she reached the office. Bucky was bent over the box of his miscellany that hadn’t yet found a home on their big board. His dark hair fell into his face as he flipped through well-handled print-outs in a file folder. His shoulders were stiff, his movements quick and methodical and felt like the actions of a man ready to bolt out the door at any moment.

Darcy suddenly missed the guy she’d come to work with an hour ago. The one who, she could tell, wanted to laugh with her and Eddie. The one who felt like he might be coming around to almost enjoying the time they were spending together. She cleared her throat. “You okay?”

“I’m fine,” he clipped and didn’t look up until his fingers stopped combing through the papers in his hand. “Here,” he said, brandishing a page in front of her face almost as soon as she walked in the room.

Warily, and feeling more than a little on edge at the sight of his discomfort, Darcy took the paper and took a small step back. She read the notes and the pages from court files that Bucky had clipped and copied together to live on the same page. Her nose wrinkled. “Apollo Consulting was investigated for links to organized crime?”

“And…?”

She refocused her eyes and continued reading. “And Griffin…” she stopped. “Jesus. Griffin was interning with the DA’s office during the initial investigation?”

“Doesn’t feel like much of a coincidence, does it?”

Her brow furrowed in confusion. “No,” she said slowly. “It definitely doesn’t…”

“How hard would it be for you to talk to Griffin about this?”

She blinked and looked up. “What? No. There’s no way they’d let me near him.”

“Why not?”

“Because I’m not assigned to his case,” she said, flustered. “Because I’m barely a homicide officer and I have nothing to do with him at all?”

Bucky shrugged. “But you have the same friends.”

“What?” she repeated, dropping her arms to her sides. “No, we don’t.”

“You go to the same fundraisers.”

She rolled her eyes. “Yeah, me and half of the deepest pockets in New York,” she reminded. “Look, I’m not exploiting my very weird, barely-there friendship with Tony Stark to get us into see Griffin. It’s not happening.”

“Then I guess we’ll just sit on our hands and wait for something else to fall into our laps,” Bucky groused, taking the paper out of her hand and dropping it back into his folder.

“ _Or_ ,” Eddie’s voice pulled their attention to see him standing in the doorway, “you could ask your shockingly handsome and brilliant partner if he can get you a hookup.”

“Don’t forget humble,” Darcy quipped with a tight smile, grateful for the interruption. She hadn’t liked the way the room had started to feel, the sudden restlessness and frustration radiating from Bucky like heat.

“Do you?” Bucky asked plainly. “Have a hook-up to get us in to see Griffin?”

Eddie shrugged. “Not exactly, but I can put you in contact with someone who might want to know what you’re speculating back here in your little conspiracy cave.” He smiled. “Griffin’s attorney.”

“I thought your father was working for the prosecution,” Bucky said, his frown deepening as he crossed his arms over his chest.

“He is,” Eddie agreed. “Or, was, I guess,” he shrugged. “Anyway. First chair of Griffin’s defense is also one of my dad’s friends. Marine buddies,” he added. “I think they were in Desert Storm together.”

“What’s the chance he’d want to hear about any of this?” he asked, motioning to the wall behind them.

Eddie scoffed. “If there’s even a ten percent chance that any of this might introduce a modicum of doubt and give him something to fight with on an appeal?” He shook his head. “I think he might find it worth his time.”

She quirked an eyebrow. “Isn’t your dad going to be mad if he finds out you’re helping out the defense?”

“Pfft,” Eddie waved a careless hand in their direction. “He’ll never even know. I’m James Bond, remember?” He grinned as he reached for his phone. “Super spy.”

She smiled back. “It’s okay if you can’t get us in,” she reminded. “I don’t even know where we’d start with questioning him.”

“I’ll let you know,” Eddie called over his shoulder as he turned back down the hall.

They were quiet again for a moment before Bucky uncrossed his arms. “So what’s your plan B if this connection doesn’t pan out?”

“I don’t have a plan B,” Darcy confessed, dropping back down into her chair. “I technically don’t even have a plan A. I have a bunch of unconnected threads and the very beginnings of a plan that’s barely formed enough to be labeled with a picture of a cookie.”

“Because it’s half-baked?” Bucky clarified, raising one eyebrow.

“Precisely,” she muttered and spun the chair to face the wall again. The good mood she’d rode into work had died a swift, but painful death on the chipped precinct tile. Between Natasha’s surprise drop-in, Bucky’s sudden and terrible mood swing, and the possibility of adding _Sneaking Around Behind the DA’s Back_ to her to-do list, Darcy wanted nothing more than to scrap the whole rest of the day and go back to bed.

Instead, she ran her hands over her face and sighed. “I just don’t know,” she said out loud.

“Don’t know about what?”

When she pulled her hands down, he’d leaned against the board, studying her with that unnerving degree of intensity. “About this,” she admitted. “Tell me this makes more sense to you than what you’re letting on because right now…”

She didn’t want to sound so defeated so early in the day, but she couldn’t help it. She’d wagered more than she cared to admit on city hall’s cooperation and the chance to look at what kind of requests they’d been approving since last fall. The realization that it might be weeks or even months before that lead would pan out had her nerves twitching, her gut hungry for something better to follow.

“What’s not making sense?” Bucky asked, standing up straight again.

“The victims, for one thing,” she motioned again to the pictures and obituaries they’d hung up. “Or targets, or whatever you want to call them.” She frowned. “A stock broker and a professional organizer? And I still haven’t heard back from City Water about what Ananda Reeves did for them before she died, but something tells me it wasn’t front-page news.” She sighed. “When you told me about Chile and Turkey and all those other…” she swallowed, looking for the word, “patterns, you said the first thing they did was weaken the infrastructure, right?”

“Right,” he agreed tightly. “Getting rid of the fire department before you start the fire.”  
  
“Okay…” Darcy said slowly. “So why are there no first responders on this board?” she asked. “What would be the point of creating this kind of backlog of bureaucracy at the city planning office? This all seems so…”

“So what?”

She wrinkled her nose. “White collar? I guess?”

Bucky’s jaw clenched in a square of frustration. “There’s more than one sure-fire way to weaken an organization from the inside,” he reminded. “And I don’t have all the pieces—I brought you everything that I have.”

“I’m sorry,” she sighed. “I’m frustrated and you…honestly don’t seem like you’re okay,” she said carefully.

“I’m fine,” he repeated unconvincingly. “I just feel like the clock’s ticking and we keep getting stonewalled anytime we make a little bit of progress.”

Darcy nodded. “Well, until one of our other leads shakes loose, the most productive thing we can do is to figure out what any of these contractors have to do with city planning and what projects they were bidding on.”

Bucky didn’t seem satisfied with her suggestion, but began his search as she’d requested. They sat on opposite ends of the desk for the rest of the tense morning with Darcy buried in her laptop and Bucky methodically going over his notes and the contractor bids looking for any correlation that might give them somewhere else to look.

“Hey,” Eddie popped his head back into their office, making Darcy jump in surprise. “We’re going to happy hour.”

She nodded for a moment before her expression morphed in a frown and she had to check her watch. “It’s ten-forty-five in the morning.”

Her partner rolled his eyes. “Tomorrow night,” he clarified. “Five-thirty. We’re going to the Jury Box and I’m buying the first round.”

Darcy blinked. “…Just have hankering for their shitty wings?”

“Something like that,” he said and tossed her a crumpled piece of paper.

She caught it easily and waited until he was gone before she smoothed it out on her lap. _Calvin Harper,_ Eddie had scrawled in his predictably messy script. It was followed by three words he’d underlined twice: _Off. The. Record._

 

***

  

“Can’t say I expected this.”

Darcy recognized Calvin Harper from the trial and all the press conferences that had surrounded the case. He was tall and slim with rich, brown skin, a wide, easy smile and a smattering of freckles over his nose and cheeks that made him seem much younger. Despite agreeing to meet with them, Calvin had been guarded and suspicious as soon as the four of them had clambered into the back booth at the Jury Box.

“It’s off the record, Harp,” Eddie said flagging down the waitress carrying their beers. “Nobody knows we’re here or what we’re talking about.”

“There’s nothing to talk about, kid,” Calvin said, waiting until the glasses had been set down and the server had returned to the bar before he continued. “I’m not discussing my client with you. You’re the cops, remember?”

“I’m not,” Bucky reminded quietly.

“No,” Calvin gave him a nod of acknowledgement. “You’re not. But I guess I’m having a hard time trusting you, regardless of your affiliation.” He held up a hand. “No offense.”

“Uh, some taken,” Darcy cut in, her eyebrows dipping together in anger. “He’s as trustworthy as either of us,” she motioned to the space between herself and Eddie. “Why’d you agree to meet with us if you don’t trust the police?”

“Forgive me, Officer Lewis,” Harper almost looked amused as he took a sip from the foamy head of his beer. “It’s nothing personal; I’m sure you’re a decent person behind the badge.”

“Gee,” she muttered, “thanks.”

“But it doesn’t change the fact that I don’t trust that my client’s case was handled correctly with the NYPD and I’m not about to discuss any aspect of Mr. Griffin’s work with you until after we’re done with the appeals.”

“Then talk to us about something else,” Eddie said, looking uneasily from Calvin to Darcy and back again. “Tell us about Apollo Consulting.”

Harper’s thick, graying eyebrows raised. “What about ‘em?”

“Are they dirty?” Bucky asked, surprising Darcy with his directness.

The attorney nodded. “They’re filthy,” he agreed. “But it’s all been dead ends so far.”

“The links to organized crime? Griffin was looking into them fifteen years ago when—”

“When he was an intern with the DA,” Calvin finished. “I’d love to back you up on this, guys, but keep in mind, Jared was _just_ an intern back then.”

“So?” Bucky asked gruffly.

“So, have you ever been an intern?” Calvin asked, sounding almost amused. “Do you remember the kind of work they let interns do? He was making copies and getting coffee and filing briefs for depositions. The fact that there was a group of DAs looking at Apollo while he was doing that is just barely more than coincidence. More to the point that no one’s ever found anything linking them to any crime outfits.” He shook his head. “If they’re washing money, they’re doing a damn good job because no one’s ever been able to connect them to anything.”

“Well,” Darcy sat back in the booth and sighed, “this has been helpful.”

Harper seemed unapologetic. “I wasn’t aware I was here to help _you,_ Miss Lewis. I thought your CI was piecing together something that was going to help my client.” His dark eyes shot to Eddie. “At least, that’s how this meeting was advertised.”

Darcy shot her partner a quick glare before she cleared her throat. “Your client might be a part of something bigger,” she began carefully, “and if that’s the case, then what we uncover _might_ ultimately help him but—”

“I think he was set up,” Bucky interrupted. “By someone who wanted him out of the way before they make their move.”

She sighed and sat back again. “It’s just a theory—”

But Harper wasn’t listening to Darcy anymore. He’d trained his attention squarely on Bucky. “And what makes you say that?”

“He’s too passionate. He doesn’t have the control it takes to commit a crime like that,” Bucky said evenly. “The photos of what was done to his wife…” he shook his head. “Whoever did that didn’t care about her. They didn’t even know her.”

Darcy glanced at him from the corner of her eye. “You don’t think?”

He shook his head again. “There’s no anger there—no rage.”

Calvin didn’t look convinced as he studied Bucky carefully. “That house was a disaster—it was chaos—there was blood everywhere.”

“Exactly. Everyone was looking at the scene, they wouldn’t know where to look on the body to spot a professional hit.”

“But you would?” Harper asked, lifting his glass carefully to his lips.

Darcy’s stomach turned as Bucky fell silent again and she turned her attention back to Harper. “It really is just a theory,” she repeated. “And one that we’re playing close to the chest at the moment.”

He considered this with a nod of understanding before he reached into his jacket pocket and removed a small notebook and pen. “Well, like I said, kids, I’m not comfortable talking to you about this case any further while we’re still in appeals.” He bent his head and scribbled something down. “But if you’d like to keep me in the loop while you work through…” he glanced up and smiled, “whatever it is you’re working through down at the station, I’d be happy to meet with you again.” He ripped off the scrap of paper and slid it across the table under Eddie’s hand.  “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got a dinner date with my bride and I can’t be late.”

Darcy sighed and watched him slide from the booth and into his heavier jacket. She was about to cap their meeting off with a heavy roll of her eyes when Harper leaned back down and covered Eddie’s hand with his. “It’s good seeing you, son,” he said genuinely before he looked at her. “I’d recommend you trust your instincts about keeping this aspect of your investigation quiet.”

“Any particular reason?”

“Your colleagues feel pretty good about my client being behind bars; I wouldn’t risk their misreading your willingness to free an innocent man as an insult to their police work.”

She offered him a wan smile, empty of amusement. “Fuckin’ pigs, right?”

Harper straightened with a laugh. “Your words, Officer Lewis. Your words.”

Eddie waited until they were alone before he flipped his hand and the note over and frowned. “Huh,” he said aloud, furrowing his brow in confusion. Harper had scribbled two numbers in sequences Darcy recognized easily.

_#300874-2654/S_

_#42/560_

She and Eddie shared a glance. “What are the odds they’ll let me check whatever this is out of the evidence locker?”

“You?” Eddie scoffed. “Slim to none. Not when you’re still on borrowed time from Driscoll and trying to turn whatever Barnes has into a real case.” He smiled. “But me? I’m just an over-enthusiastic almost-detective trying to learn all he can first-hand from one of the biggest cases in the borough.” He shrugged. “And that’s if anyone even asks.”

Darcy smiled and shook her head. “You’re really getting into this whole James Bond thing, aren’t you?”

She glanced over at Bucky, hoping to catch his eye and coax a smile out of him. But his eyes were cast downward, his mouth set in a firm line, unlikely to budge, and Darcy felt her heart sink.

 

***

 

“Hey,” Steve’s voice settled her nerves almost instantly and Darcy felt herself smiling as she tucked the phone between her ear and shoulder to press the button on the elevator. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah,” she answered. “Everything’s fine. I uh, I sent Bucky home already, I’ve got a few things I need to wrap up and I...” she paused and waited for the officers sharing the elevator to depart on the third floor before she continued. “I thought he might need some time to himself.”

She could almost hear Steve’s face twist in concern. “Did something happen?”

“Uh, no,” she faltered. “I mean, I guess he’s been acting weird since yesterday.”

“What happened yesterday?” Steve asked, reminding Darcy that they hadn’t talked about it. She and Bucky had worked all day then returned to the apartment and eaten pizza without Steve and without making much in the way of conversation. They’d sat on opposite sides of the living room and watched two episodes of Stranger Things before Darcy had felt her eyelids drooping and forced herself to go to bed before Steve returned from the tower.

“Nothing, really,” she said with a shrug before she frowned as the doors to her floor opened. “Well,” she paused again. “Natasha was here.”

“Why?”

“I have no idea,” she admitted. “Anyway, it kind of set him off. Are they...” she bit her lip. “Are they not okay with each other?”

It was Steve’s turn to pause. “I... think that answer might be more complicated than either of us has time for right now. Did he say anything about it?”

“No,” she admitted. “I just...I just wanted to give you a heads up before he got home. You should...” she blew out a breath between her lip. “I don’t know. Maybe you guys should go to the gym and hit things.”

She heard him smile. “That’s probably not the worst idea,” he admitted. “You want me to wait for you? We could all go together.”

“Aw,” she hummed as she dropped her purse onto her chair. “Mom and Dad taking their surly foster assassin to the park together?” she waited for him to laugh before she continued, “No thanks, I have a date with my sweatpants and that leftover pizza.”

Steve paused.

Darcy sighed. “Fine, I have a date with my sweatpants and _new_ pizza which I may or may not share with you.”

He laughed. “I’ll text you when we’re on our way home.”

“Thank you; be safe,” she said simply and waited for him to hang up first before she dropped her phone back into her bag and frowned at the state of her desk. Another yellow envelope had been dropped onto her keyboard with a pink post-it that just read _Sign and Pass_.

Darcy’s frown lines only deepened as she popped into the metal clasp on the back of the envelope and removed the thick greeting card inside.

Not a greeting card. A sympathy card. She opened it and glanced quickly over the kind words and signatures scrawled from her fellow officers. “Hey,” she called out to June as she made her way through the bullpen. She held up the card. “I'm happy to sign, but who died?”

June sighed sadly as she squeezed through the tight space between desks to get to Darcy's. “Barb Guadio. Poor thing was only diagnosed with cancer six weeks ago if you can believe it.”

Darcy frowned. “Seriously? That's terrible,” she murmured, hoping her blind sympathy would mask the fact that she could not remember who Barb Guadio was or what department she was with.

June nodded, apparently none the wiser. “There's a little collection going around for Jason and the kids if you can spare it. No pressure if you can't,” she added with a small smile and a quick pat on Darcy's shoulder.

Darcy sat down at her desk and glanced over the signatures and messages, trying to get a feel for who Barb had been, hoping to jog her own memory in the process. After a few minutes coming up empty, she found a small blank patch and scribbled her tried and true sympathy message and signed her name. She fished her checkbook out of her purse and wrote a check for fifty dollars, hoping her donation would make up for the impersonal nature of her message in the card. 

She passed the envelope over to Mulligan’s desk and returned to her own. Google was open before she realized it and Barb's obituary was at the top of the second page of results. “Aha,” she said under her breath. “Barb was on the admin team.”

She backed out of the obituary page and her eyes fell to the second story listed. A community spotlight article from two years ago. As she clicked on it, Darcy’s stomach clenched, and her mouth ran dry.

 

> _“We’d be lost without our Barbie,” says Chief Paramedic Carrie Guttman as she hangs up the schedules for the city’s first responders. “She keeps us all where we need to be, no question about it.”_
> 
> _Guttman is only one of many voices praising the work of City Hospital administrator Barbara Guadio. For the last six months, Barbara—or Barbie, as the EMTs lovingly refer to her—has taken the helm for scheduling and organization of the city’s first responders. Working with a small unit of administrative professionals from hospitals around the city, Barbara has been a powerful force for good in ironing out the kinks in a system that many have criticized for being disorderly—_

 

Darcy printed the article and Barb’s obituary and walked it slowly back to her and Bucky’s make-shift office. She found a pushpin and pinned it to the board next to Crispin McCall, Gregory Wheeler, and Ananda Reeves.

There was a chance she was wrong, she reminded herself as she shrugged back into her coat and grabbed her purse. A chance she was trying too hard to make something fit where it didn’t belong.

It was all she could do to ignore the nagging in her gut saying she _wasn’t_ and that Barb felt like the next piece in this puzzle she and Bucky were piecing together. A puzzle they were building with the pieces facedown.

And the final picture hidden.

And with no real way of know what was coming next.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I present with very little confidence, so if you don't hate it and you're still on board, let me know?


	7. Seven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A soldier will run two miles.  
> A soldier will do one hundred push-ups.  
> A soldier will run two miles.  
> A soldier will do one hundred sit-ups.  
> A soldier will run two miles.  
> A soldier will do fifty pull-ups.  
> A soldier will run two miles…
> 
> Repeat as needed until solider forgets where all his pent-up restlessness came from.

 

Darcy instinctively jumped when the door to the shower slid open before she relaxed as Steve stepped in to stand beneath the spray with her. “Sorry,” he said with a smile, “Is this shower full?”

She rolled her eyes and stretched up on her toes to brush her lips to his while he maneuvered them around so he could get his hair wet. “It is now,” she laughed, reaching for the shampoo.

“Do you mind sharing?” he asked, seriously, shaking his head under the water.

She shook her head. “Not when it’s you.”

That wasn’t _entirely_ true. Normally Darcy loved her long, solitary showers. Historically, it was where she’d been able to do her best thinking. But when she considered how rare true alone time with Steve was becoming these days, she had to remind herself that she should take what she could get and figure out another place to gather her thoughts.

Steve took the shampoo from her and turned her away from him gently. A few seconds later, she had to stifle the urge to sigh when his fingers sank into her wet hair and he began massaging her scalp as he worked the shampoo through her curls. “ _Especially_ not when you do that.”

His fingers slid down her neck and he pressed his thumbs into her shoulders. “You’re too tense,” he reminded, his voice right beside her ear. “You’ve gotta learn how to relax.”

She laughed. “That’s so adorable coming from you,” she said, turning her head slightly so she could reach up and pat his cheek. “That’s like the cutest thing you’ve ever said.”

Steve grinned. “Can’t I be a little hypocritical when it comes to taking care of you?”

She shook her head. “Nope. We take care of each other, remember?” She studied his face for a moment before she turned back around and swiped her thumb over the lines creasing his forehead. “Speaking of, these are looking a little intense for so early in the morning. Something happen at the gym?”

He frowned thoughtfully as he poured a dollop of shampoo into his palm and worked it through his short hair. “I’m not sure what’s going on with him,” Steve admitted. “He seems…”

“Really on edge?” Darcy guessed, trying not to sound too disappointed. It had been seven long days since she’d seen the old Bucky; the one who talked to her like she was almost his friend, the one who was starting to come around and smile more than once a week. She didn’t just miss the companion she’d come to rely on at work or the man who would offer to cook with them and join in the conversation at dinner, she missed the glimpses of the side of Steve that only Bucky brought out. The glimpses of the man he’d been when they’d been younger—before the war and the serum and the ice.

She hadn’t _really_ thought that Bucky was going to snap out of whatever had set him off with just a few extra hours at the gym, but it had been worth a try. He and Steve had started working out twice a day since Darcy had suggested it a week ago. In that time, Bucky had destroyed three heavy-duty punching bags and two speed bags and was no closer to the version of himself he’d been before they’d started investigating Apollo Contracting.

“That’s putting it lightly.”

“What’s he like when you’re sparring?” she asked as they switched places so she could rinse the suds from her head. “Does he seem like he’s having a relapse? Like he’s struggling with anything?”

Steve’s hesitation was palpable.

Darcy stared at him. “Steve.”

“I know.”

“You can’t just _not_ engage him,” she said seriously. “Fighting’s like, _half_ the way he remembers how to communicate.”

“I _know_ ,” he reminded firmly.

“Then let him hit you!” she demanded. “What’s stopping you?”

He ran a frustrated hand over his face. “I’m…I don’t know,” he admitted. “I think I’m worried if we put ourselves in that position that it’ll…I don’t know. That it’ll trigger something in him.”

“I’m not suggesting a fight to the death,” she said. “But if _he’s_ holding himself back and _you’re_ holding _your_ self back, you’re not doing anyone any favors.”

He squared his jaw in consideration. “True.”

“And you’d spar with any other member of your team,” she reminded. “You shouldn’t treat him any differently.”

“And if something sets him off?”

“I don’t think that’s the worst-case scenario,” Darcy argued lightly. “Maybe it’ll help him figure out what crawled up his ass and start getting back to normal. I’d do it myself—”

“Are you crazy?” Steve interrupted. “No way. Not when he’s like this.”

She rolled her eyes. “I was _going_ to say,” she continued, clearing her throat, “that until I’m sure he’s not going to slip and kill me by accident, I think you’re our only option for human punching bags.” She smirked. “I’m pretty scrappy,” she reminded. “But I’m not an idiot.”

The corner of Steve’s lips quirked into a smile. “I didn’t say you were,” he assured her. “And I’m just choosing to ignore how gung-ho you are about me offering to let him beat the shit out of me just to see if it makes him feel better.”

Darcy’s smirk blossomed into a full-blown smile as she took a tiny step to close the distance between them. “Maybe I’m just in the mood to take care of you,” she suggested, raising her eyebrows in what she hoped was a seductive look. “Ever think about that?” Steve grinned and let his hands come to rest on her shoulders. “That maybe I want to play Nurse Darcy for a night?”

“I don’t have to be hurt for you to play Nurse Darcy,” Steve reminded softly before he dropped his head and captured her lips with his.

Darcy grinned against his mouth and pushed away gently, breaking their kiss with a groan. “I don’t have time to finish this conversation the way I want to,” she said, shaking her head to rinse the last of the shampoo down the drain.

Steve’s sigh was half-amusement, half-disappointment as he stepped back and motioned for her to turn around again. He grabbed her purple loofah and the soap. “I’ll think about it,” he said, drawing soapy circles over her back and shoulders. “Deal?”

She looked over her shoulder and met his eyes with a smile. “Deal.”

“Good,” he said, kissing the shell of her ear. “Now, if you’re going to leave me with thoughts of Nurse Darcy all day,” his free hand snaked around her waist to swirl softly over the skin of her belly, “the least you can do is let me help you with those hard-to-reach places.”

She had to bite her lip and keep her giggles from echoing off the tile in the bathroom. They still had a roommate, after all.

 

***

 

Despite his suggestion that he was the best one to liberate Calvin Harper’s clue from evidence, Eddie had been working back-to-back homicides for the last few days. They’d barely had time to exchange loving barbs at their desk, let alone discuss clandestine evidence findings and Darcy had been lost in trying to drag another lead from her suddenly less-than-enthusiastic accomplice that she’d almost forgotten her partner’s offer to help.

“Hey,” he called on Wednesday as he made his way through the bullpen. “What are the four C’s of Tactical Response?”

Darcy frowned and cast her memory back to the test prep book she’d been studying the night before. “Uh…Containment, Control,” she held up her fingers as she counted them off, “Communication and…Call SWAT?”

Eddie had reached his desk by the and flipped over the notecard on his desk. “You got it,” he said with a smile. “My turn.”

Darcy pulled out her own stack of notecards that Becca had made for her and flipped to one near the back. “What’s the most common method to divide a scene for investigation?”

Her partner grimaced in thought. “Is it…zone and grid?”

She smiled. “It is!”

Eddie raised a victorious fist and flipped through his cards. “Okay, here’s an easy one: what’s the most sensitive aspect of a homicide investigation?”

She scoffed. “The first forty-eight hours of a preliminary investigation.”

“Correct.”

Darcy pulled a card from the center of her deck. “Ooh, two-parter. Define the UCR Hierarchy Rule.”

“States that in a multiple-offense incident, only the most serious crime is counted,” Eddie answered succinctly.

She raised her eyebrows. “And to what crime does that not apply?”

“Arson?”

She nodded. “Arson.”

Eddie grinned. “We’re awesome. Let’s eat tacos.”

Darcy blinked. “Now? You want me to go with you?”

“Yeah,” Eddie smiled. “You and Officer Giggles over there,” he motioned to where Bucky had just disappeared down the back hallway. “Come on,” he jerked his head toward the windows. “While it’s still nice outside.”

Bucky hadn’t seemed entirely keen on tagging along for lunch; it had taken Darcy’s bribe of not minding if he smoked while they walked to get him to agree. But to have him out on the street with them, even trailing slightly behind with his cigarette, still felt more like progress than sitting silently opposite each other while they researched all day.

Eddie waited until they'd walked two blocks from the precinct before he cleared his throat and turned serious. “It’s a hard drive,” he said without preamble.

She and Bucky stopped walking and glanced at one another. “A hard drive?” Bucky repeated quietly.

“An external hard drive,” Eddie confirmed. “Griffin’s external hard drive. What he was using to store his cases and work from home the night his wife was murdered.”

Darcy blinked. “And…what’s on it?”

Eddie shook his head. “Literally everything he’d been working on for the last year before this all went down. Briefs, depositions, trial notes, police reports. Everything.”

“Well, fuck,” she muttered.

“Anything that looks like it’s something that could have drawn him into someone’s cross-hairs?” Bucky asked, ignoring Darcy’s defeated, slumped shoulders.

“Oooh, like something related to the shady bros at Apollo Consulting?” she asked, her hope rising again.

Eddie shook his head. “Not yet, but as soon as I find something that fits with your theories, I’ll let you know.”

“Not to sound like a dick, but how long do you think that’ll be?” Bucky asked, sounding exactly like a dick, regardless.

“Don’t hold your breath,” Eddie muttered. “James Bond works in the shadows and sometimes that takes a lot longer than it’s supposed to.”

Bucky narrowed his eyes. “I would have thought James Bond would be really efficient.”

Eddie scoffed. “Well, I’m doing this in my abundant spare time and at home,” he reminded them. “And James Bond didn’t have a family so that’s probably where most of his efficiency came from,” he groused, shaking his head. “Between Becca trying to get the nursery set up and Shawn needing help with his homework, my nights aren’t exactly my own.”

“It’s okay,” Darcy interjected. “We’ve still got some time.”

“Not too much time,” Bucky reminded. “His sentencing hearing’s coming up any day now.”

Eddie glared, unimpressed. “Given the amount of stuff I’m looking through—off the clock, I’ll remind you again, and without my CO’s knowing about it—the thought of having anything useful to present at a sentencing hearing is pretty fucking funny right now.”

An uncomfortable silence fell over the trio before Darcy cleared her throat and offered Eddie a small smile. “Have I mentioned you’re my favorite partner?” she asked, nudging his shoulder. He rolled his eyes. “Like, my favoritest partner ever in the whole world?”

“Shut up, Lewis.”

Still grinning, she upgraded her nudge to a punch. “No, I’m serious. You’re so much my favorite that I’m going to buy you tacos. In fact,” she glanced over her shoulder, “I’m gonna buy us _all_ tacos. It’s just that kind of day.”

He smothered it the moment before they stepped up to the truck to order, but Darcy caught the faintest hint of a smile playing at the corner of Bucky’s lips.

And between that and Eddie’s news about the hard drive, it felt like a little bit of progress all around.

 

***

 

Bucky found himself starring down the barrel of an unexpected three-day weekend when Darcy informed him on Thursday afternoon that she was very close to her overtime limit for the month. Sure enough and not even an hour later, her burly sergeant paused at her desk and said as much.

“You’re capped, Lewis,” he’d said without letting her even begin her argument. “Driscoll’s orders.”

She’d sighed heavily but had surprised him and hadn’t argued. He had to figure she was versed enough in the deep lines of Nowicki’s face to know when it was worth her breath and when it wasn’t. Instead, Darcy had glanced at the calendar. “You guys gonna need extra help this weekend?”

“You mean because of Griffin’s sentencing tomorrow?” her sergeant had asked.

She’d offered a wry smile. “Forecast says protests with a chance of violence.”

The hairs on the back of Bucky’s neck stood up at the mention of Griffin. Darcy’s partner still hadn’t turned up anything useful from his hard drive and without anything else to go on, their investigation felt dangerously close to square one. He’d spent his week looking closer into their victims, trying to find commonalities, having both decided that Barb Guadio’s death was a little too convenient for tragic coincidence. While he’d dug into as much of her life and the other victims as he could, Darcy had started trying to identify who—if anyone—had replaced the deceased since last October.

A task that was proving difficult and fruitless.

It was with minimal conversation that he and Steve made their way to the gym on Friday morning. He’d grown to like this new routine they’d fallen into. It was nice having someone to run with who kept pace and respected his desire not to talk.

Even though he could tell it was killing him to sprint along in near-silence, Bucky had to appreciate that Steve wasn’t pushing him to talk about his feelings.

If he had, Bucky might have had to admit out loud that he didn’t understand what was going on inside his head any more than his friends did. He might have to acknowledge that all this frustration and confusion had started simmering when he’d first caught sight of Natasha’s red hair at the precinct. That since then, it felt like an angry animal had dug her claws deep into his chest; he was reminded of her presence with every breath. That he had no idea what to do with what he was feeling aside from withdrawing and hoping it went away.

But if he said any of that aloud—even to Steve—he would have to admit how stupid that sounded.

They’d made it to the tower well before sunrise. The pleasant voices of Stark’s AI’s chirping a welcome at them as they made their way to the basement training facility. Once inside, they started the routine they’d fallen back into without much more discussion than a few nods of suggestion and agreement.

It was the same routine they’d had to do in the army; the one they’d modified to stay sharp while they’d crawled through Western Europe with the other Commandos. When his feet pounded the turf of the track, he could still hear his first drill sergeant barking out the commands in between shrill blasts on his whistle like it was his first morning at boot camp.  


_A soldier will run two miles._

_A soldier will do one hundred push-ups._

_A soldier will run two miles._

_A soldier will do one hundred sit-ups._

_A soldier will run two miles._

_A soldier will do fifty pull-ups._

_A soldier will run two miles…_  
  


Repeat as needed until solider forgets where all his pent-up restlessness came from.

Bucky liked this routine though. It was hard, but predictable and reminded him that he and Steve had started out on the same team. That this was something they’d done together before.

And it was something he could do and know he was in control. Unlike when he tried to work out his frustration on the punching bags. When his fists took on a mind of their own and wouldn't let him stop until the bag had been destroyed or there was a decent hole in the wall.

“You feeling up for something different?” Steve asked as they stopped for a slug of water after their last circuit.

He shrugged and swiped at the sweat on his forehead. “Whad’you have in mind?”

Steve nodded in the direction of the other side of the gym, the one with the boxing ring and the padded rooms he’d seen other people using for sparring practice.

“You wanna box?” Bucky asked, his stomach turning unpleasantly at the idea.

But Steve shook his head. “Let’s go hand-to-hand.”

He felt his hackles rise. “I don’t know that I’m up for that.”

Steve offered him a familiar half-smile. “C’mon, Buck,” he said with a motion of his head in the direction of the ring. “When’s the last time I invited you to beat me up?”

“Four and a half years ago,” he answered immediately, before he stopped and remember rhetorical questions were a thing people used all the time in friendly conversation. Before he could stop himself from sounding so robotic and on edge all the damn time.

Steve smiled again. “That wasn’t an _invitation_ …” he reminded. “I _was_ trying to—”

“Save the world,” he finished for him, allowing a smirk to twist the corner of his lips. “Yeah, I know. I still won.”

Steve scoffed and started walking toward the mats. “You’re remembering it wrong,” he argued as Bucky found himself falling into step behind him. “I gave up! I let you win.”

“So you agree that I won?” Bucky clarified.

“Who said that?” Steve asked, turning to walk backwards and continue his argument. “I didn’t say that.”

“You did,” he reminded, a little amused. “Just now.”

Steve rolled his eyes. “Fine,” he relented. “Then consider this a rematch.”

“Well technically,” Bucky said, unable to resist the chance to needle Steve some more, “that _was_ the rematch.” He smirked again. “‘Cause, if you remember, I kicked your ass the first time too.”

“ _What?_ ” Steve exclaimed. “You absolutely did not.”

“I did.”

“ _No_ ,” he countered emphatically. “It was basically a stalemate and then we were interrupted by me being arrested by federal agents.”

“Who were working for me,” Bucky put in quickly before he frowned. “Or… _with_ me, I guess,” he shook his head. “Which means I won then, too.”

“Maybe,” Steve shrugged, good-naturedly. “But I bet you can’t do it again.”

The pressure he’d felt in his chest—those claws of darker memories and regrets—lessened the moment he let out a choked laugh at Steve’s cockiness. “Fine,” he relented. “Rematch.”

For all the tough talk and taunting, the first match was over quickly. Steve telegraphed his apprehension with every move. His punches and kicks lacked conviction; his returning hits landed just a little off center; his attacks a little too predictable, proving once again that he’d never learned to untangle his emotions from his actions. Bucky felt that stir of affection and frustration that used to perch right in the back of his throat whenever Steve was around. The same twist of fear that his friend was too easy to read. Too easy to exploit and to hurt.

Bucky put him down hard and fast and much too easily for someone who wore the mantle of super soldier.

“Best of three?” Steve huffed with half a smile letting his head drop back onto the mat.

Bucky rolled his eyes and reached out to pull him up. He didn’t want to admit it, but working out with another person—even someone obviously holding back—felt better than hitting the bag alone. It felt familiar. Safer, somehow. He felt less likely to slip back into the darker corners of his memories with another person in front of him. Less likely that he’d let himself lose control if he was focusing on an opponent instead of himself.

“Hey soldier boys!”

The sound of Darcy’s voice jolted his attention toward the glass wall and any sense of relief he’d been enjoying vanished swiftly when he realized she wasn’t alone.

“I brought coffee,” Darcy continued, holding up a cardboard cup-carrier with three remaining tall white paper cups. “For when you’re done kicking ass.”

Behind her, Natasha offered her a faint smile and shrugged out of her hooded sweatshirt and adjusted the straps of her complicated sports bra. “Morning, boys,” she called casually before she flipped herself over and gathered her red hair into a bun at the top of her head.

Not that Bucky was noticing her do any of that.

Because he definitely _wasn’t_ noticing her do any of that.

Steve brushed his hands off on his pants and motioned for Bucky to follow him outside the padded sparring room. He watched as he swiped the sweat away from his face to greet Darcy with a kiss when she arrived at his side. “I figured you’d be sleeping in.”

She shook her head. “Sentencing day,” she reminded. “Couldn’t sleep for all the excitement.” Her eyes strayed from Steve’s to wander in his direction and she held out the coffee cups again. “Mmm?” she asked, giving the carrier a subtle shake. “Can I tempt you?” Bucky felt the corner of his lips hint at a smile as she continued, “Straight up coffee; no pumpkin spice bullshit.”

“You should be in marketing,” Steve commented as he and Bucky reached for a cup at the same time.

“Not so fast, soldier,” Natasha’s sudden appearance made Darcy jump as the she joined them. “I was hoping you’d let me cut in for a warm-up.”

Bucky watched Steve’s expression shift from surprise to acceptance as he shrugged his shoulder and glanced over. “Sure,” he said easily. “If Bucky doesn’t mind—”

“Not with you,” Natasha cut Steve off. She looked at him, holding him in place as her green eyes glittered with a hint of a challenge. “With _you_.”

He froze.

It was just for a moment, but he knew she caught it by the way her eyebrows lifted just slightly. He coughed and rolled his shoulders. “Sure,” he heard himself say aloud, his voice rising above the din of panic mounting in his mind. “If you want.”

“I’m…not sure that’s the best idea,” Steve put in carefully.

“I wasn’t asking you,” Natasha reminded simply, patting Steve’s arm as she brushed past them both and pulled open the door.

Steve hit him with a pair of soft eyes as he turned to follow her. “You don’t have to—”

“I’m fine, Steve,” he interrupted, reminding himself to keep the edge out of his tone. “She just wants a warm-up.”

 _Just a quick match,_ he told himself as he followed Natasha and let the door shut behind him. _Nice and easy. Nothing to worry about._

“I hope you don’t mind,” she said as he moved to join her in the center of the room and rolled his head from one side to the other. “But it’s infuriating the way Steve was letting you win.”

He felt his eyebrows lift in surprise. “How long were you watching?” he asked before he could stop himself.

Natasha pulled one arm in front of her chest and rotated her shoulder before she switched sides. “Long enough to know he’s holding back.”

Bucky rolled his eyes. “He’s just trying to protect me.”

She nodded, looking unconvinced. “You don’t need protection.”

He eyed her carefully while she began sizing him up. Her bare feet barely made an impression on the mat as she moved slowly around him. “I thought this was about you,” he said finally, pivoting slightly to keep his eyes on her.

The corner of her lips twitched into a smile. “Who says it isn’t?” she asked before delivering a kick squarely to his diaphragm.

He stumbled back for a moment, the wind knocked out of his lungs, but managed to catch her ankle before her next kick could land and knock him over. He shoved her foot away and threw off her stance, giving him enough time to throw a punch intended for her right side. She grabbed his hand and spun backward into him, driving her elbow into his ribcage.

“You sure about that?” he asked as they separated and squared off again.

“Positive,” she said around a deep breath and rolled her shoulders back. “I’m just looking for a decent workout,” she reminded, switching her feet quickly and raising her fists. “And as I recall,” she ducked under his first swing, “you never had a problem giving me one.”

He blocked her uppercut and dropped his shoulder to bump her backward, knocking her off her balance for a moment. “Well as _I_ recall,” he said, blocking her next two jabs, “you never used to be so easy to read.”

She swung again, a solid hook that knocked the smirk off his face. “And you never used to talk so much.”

But she was remembering that wrong, a little voice in the back of Bucky’s mind reminded him as they traded blows. She was always the quiet one. The little mouse they shoved into his training cell. The scared little girl he was supposed to turn into a soldier. It was years before she developed that hardened, smug, protective shell.

He’d advanced on her before he realized it, backing her up a few feet toward the padded wall. Natasha grit her teeth as she ducked under one of his punches and made a move to kick his feet out from under him. He grabbed her ankle again and flipped her hard onto her back. “Don’t get sloppy, Natalia,” he said, grinding her name through his teeth before he could stop himself.

She huffed out a breath that looked half-surprised, half-irritated and raised her hand to be helped up. He straightened and eyed her suspiciously. She waited another beat and rolled her eyes. “Ever the gentleman,” she muttered as she flipped to her stomach and pushed herself up quickly.

Too quickly.

Her shoulder landed squarely against his chest, taking him off guard as she drove her fist into his side and pushed him far enough away to reset her stance. He let her advance on him, firmly blocking and swatting at her swinging arms. “Sloppy,” he repeated calmly, watching how his assessment squared her jaw and narrowed her eyes in frustration. “Who have you been training with?”

“Why?” she huffed, looking up with a maddening half-smile when he landed a blow to her stomach. “Jealous?”

Bucky didn’t have time to respond to that before she lunged to jab at his face and he instinctively grabbed her by the throat. He only threw her a few feet; her back hit the wall and she dropped down to her knees. “You should have seen that coming,” he reminded in a tone much more patient than he felt as he strode across the training space. “Did you forget everything I taught you?”

Natasha coughed once and rubbed at her neck. He paused as a flash of guilt twisted deep in his gut. He shook his head and forced back the shadows of the memories stretching from the corners of his mind. He forced himself to stop; to extend a hand to help her up.

She looked up through a thick fan of lashes and smirked again as she reached for his hand. “Not everything,” she said and used his weight to leverage herself up and into the air. Caught off guard in the moment, there was nothing he could do to stop her thighs from closing around his neck. His center of gravity toppled and his back hit the mat before he could think of his next move.

Natasha’s knees dug into the mat on either side of his chest and she fell forward, her hands on his shoulders, breathing hard. A lock of her hair came loose and brushed his nose. She smiled again and raised an eyebrow. “Satisfied?”

Bucky felt that tightening in his chest again the longer she stayed there, smelling like sweat and citrus shampoo, her full lips smirking down at him proudly. He swallowed hard. “Not exactly the word I’d use,” he said finally, his voice tight.

Natasha sat up and detangled herself from him quickly. He pushed himself up and got to his feet, brushing himself off. The air was too charged; being this close to her was too dangerous. He moved quickly for the door, ignoring the way Darcy and Steve were pretending they hadn’t been watching.

“Barnes,” Natasha said softly, following him at a safe distance. “I didn’t—”

“It’s fine,” he clipped, not looking at her.

She took a step into the hallway after him anyway, ignoring all the signs he was giving that he didn’t want to be followed. “James—”

But if she said anything else, he didn’t hear her. He turned down the next hallway and headed for the showers, hoping the hot water would rinse away the memories threatening to pull him under.

 

 

Steve’s hand fell heavy on Darcy’s arm as she made a move to follow Bucky down the hall. She looked from him to Natasha and back down the empty corridor again before her shoulders sank. “So, I guess that was a bad idea,” she said finally, almost grateful when her phone began to ring.

“No, it was a good idea,” Natasha said, crossing her arms over her chest. “At least I know he remembers me.”

Darcy sighed and reached for her back pocket, unsurprised to see Nowicki’s number on the screen. “What’s up, Sarge?” she asked, happy for a work-related distraction.

“You been watching the news?”

“Nope,” she answered simply. “What’s up? Where do you need me?”

“Griffin’s sentence just came down,” he said gruffly. “LWOP.”

“You’ve gotta be kidding me.”

“Wish I was, Lewis. There’s at least ten different groups planning protests all over the city right now. It’s all hands on deck.”

She sighed again and pushed a hand through her hair. “Okay, I’ll be in.”

“Good,” Nowicki huffed. “And Lewis?”

“Yeah?’ she asked, ready to hang up.

“There’s riot gear waiting. It’s pretty bad out there.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, fun fact: it's REALLY HARD to write hand-to-hand fight scenes where no one's trying to kill each other. Like, way harder than I realized. 
> 
> And I also borrowed a moment from Buffy and Angel because it was too perfect for these two.
> 
> I love you guys. That is all.


	8. Eight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Generally it's a bad day for everyone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As usual, Amerna gets most of the credit for this chapter. Without her input and ideas (even the ones she thinks she's giving me as a joke) this entire chapter would have been about three pages long. She's the best.
> 
> We're getting right into the thick of things with this chapter, friends, so if you're still on board, hold onto your butts and buckle in. 
> 
> So so much love to all of you who have stuck with this 'verse so far. While it's taxing and not nearly as fun to write as the fluff-a-thon I wrote in December, it really stretches me as a writer and researcher and I love that you all are supportive enough of this story to inspire me to keep at it.
> 
> *big, wet, red lipsticky kisses*

 

Steve didn’t love the look on Darcy’s face as she tucked her phone away and passed him her coffee. “Everything okay?” he asked, glancing apprehensively from her to the direction in which Bucky had stalked off.

“Probably not,” she admitted with a shake of her head. “But that’s what I signed up for.” She stretched up onto her toes and brushed her lips to his. “I’ll call when I can,” she said; their usual goodbye. “Don’t wait up.”

He managed to give her hand a quick squeeze and steal one more kiss before she pulled away. “I won’t,” he lied with a half-smile.

Just like she did every time he had to leave.

“And uh--” she glanced in Bucky’s direction with a frown. “Sorry about that.”

“I don’t...think that was your fault,” he said slowly.

“Well,” she shrugged. “Good luck.”

“You too.” He waited until she’d almost reached the door before he turned back to see if Natasha had any input on Bucky’s sudden change in demeanor.

But she was gone. Slipped away while Darcy was on the phone, he assumed. Steve sighed and scrubbed at his face, scraping the palm of his hand along his stubble.

 

Bucky was in the shower longer than he had expected to have to wait. He was pulling his shirt over his head as he returned to the locker room and stopped with a sigh. “And you’re still here.”

Steve couldn’t resist offering a half-smile. “Sure am,” he said and leaned back on the bench, resting his shoulders against the cold lockers. “Wanna talk?”

Bucky walked past him to where he’d left the black hair tie he usually wore on his wrist. “Not particularly,” he muttered, not meeting Steve’s gaze, even in the mirror.

Steve nodded, pretending that hadn’t stung. “Mind if I talk?”

Bucky sighed again and pushed his fingers into his hair, pulling it back up and away from his face. “Something tells me you’re going to anyway,” he said. “So be my guest."

He cleared his throat and tried to gather his thoughts for a minute. If he was being honest, he’d been pinning a few more hopes than he cared to admit on Bucky feeling better after a sparring match. “It’s...okay, you know.” When Bucky’s eyes snapped to his in the reflection, he continued, carefully. “Whatever you’re...whatever happened back there with you and Nat,” he clarified. “Whatever you’re feeling. It’s okay.”

A silence that felt just a little too long passed between them before Bucky cleared his throat. “Okay,” he said finally and finished pulling his hair back. “Thanks.”

Steve shook his head. “Come on, Buck,” he said with a sigh that sounded just a little too close to resignation. “I’m trying here.”

“Well maybe you should stop trying,” Bucky snapped. “Stop trying and stop acting like you’re going to fix me with a different workout or the right motivational speech.” He turned away from the mirror and faced Steve with a darker, unreadable look in his eyes. “It’s not that I’m not grateful that I’m not sitting in a jail cell or living off stolen scraps anymore...It’s not...” he stopped himself and shook his head. “I mean, it’s not even that I don’t like you...I do. I like living with you and Darcy but...” he exhaled heavily again, “but you’ve gotta stop kidding yourself.”

He felt his eyebrows lift in surprise. He crossed his arms over his chest and willed himself not to be too confrontational. “You think I’m kidding myself?”

“The guy you’re looking for is dead, Steve. Maybe we should just let him stay that way.”

He took a deep, measured inhale and swallowed hard. “And what about the guy I’m looking at?” he asked, forcing his voice to stay steady, to not reveal how Bucky’s words had twisted his heart. “What should we do about him?”

Bucky sighed and dropped his arms. He opened his mouth to respond, but closed it again. As he took a breath and looked like he might try a second time, Steve’s cell phone rang.

He reached for it, planning to shut it off when Tony’s name caught his eye. He sighed.

“Answer it, Steve,” Bucky said, turning back to the mirror.

Without much choice—Tony had activated his call-out beacon remotely—Steve held the phone to his ear and turned away from Bucky out of habit. “What is it, Stark?”

“FRIDAY caught the trail of an arms deal going down outside of Baltimore,” Tony began without greeting. “Looks like they’ve got their hands on some Cold-War Hydra tech we’ve been trying to track down for the last few years.”

Every part of Steve’s mind groaned impatiently. “Is this something you want the whole team for?” He asked, glancing back over his shoulder to see the door to the locker room swinging shut as Bucky ducked out. “Never mind,” he said, adjusting his tone to one a little more clipped, a little more professional. “What kind of firepower are we expecting to meet?”

“I can brief you on the way. How long will it take you to get here?”

“I’m downstairs,” he answered, resigning himself to having to wait until this particular fire was extinguished before getting a chance to talk to Bucky again. “I’ll just be a minute.”

 

***

 

“Goddammit,” Darcy hissed as she stubbed her toe alongside her filing cabinet. “What the hell is this?” She groaned and bent over, surprised to find two one-gallon cans of paint living under her side of the shared desk.

“African Violet,” Eddie said, as though it should be obvious. “I gotta paint a nursery this weekend and I was at the store when I got the callout.”

She stood up and raised her eyebrows. “Can the paint for Darcy Jr’s room live on _your_ side of the desk, please? I need somewhere to put my legs.”

He scoffed. “Those Lil’ Smokies you’re walking around on? You’ve got plenty of room.”

His comment on her legs earned him a matching set of middle fingers which he graciously returned as Driscoll entered the bullpen.

“Listen up,” he called, looking a little more harried than usual. The chatter and commotion died before he continued. “Griffin’s sentencing created even more of a clusterfuck than we had planned.” He directed their attention to a map of the city Nowicki had projected onto the only white wall. “We’ve got protests either planned or happening here, here, and here.” A red beam from his laser pointer shot to the courthouse, the community center in Griffin’s neighborhood, and Prospect Park. “But now we’ve got an all-out riot blocking everything on the Manhattan Bridge and another one over at the Union Street Station so we’re gonna need to do this in teams.” He held up a hand as hands went up around the room. “And before anyone asks, all overtime has already been approved until we get this under control.” Three of the hands went down as Driscoll continued his plan. “We’ve been in communication with the 68th and the 73rd so there’s going to be lot of uniforms on the street—I hope it goes without saying that I expect you all to cooperate with each other while we’re out there.”

“Fine, but the 73rd still cheats at softball,” Officer Franklin called out, earning a ripple of laughter from an otherwise tense crowd.

Darcy shot her eyes toward Eddie, unsurprised to see him sending a discreet text. Probably letting Becca know he’d be late, she decided, wondering briefly if she should do the same for Steve. She got her answer a minute later when her phone buzzed with a text from the man in question, telling her he was on his way to a callout of his own. By the time she’d responded with a quick, _Be safe <3_, Eddie had put away his phone and Driscoll had moved onto team assignments.

They were paired off and grouped in with Nowicki, Mulligan, Rodriguez and three rookies from Vice she didn’t know very well. They were to grab a handful of their precinct’s own uniforms and paddy-wagon over to the bridge where they’d rendezvous with a unit from the 68th.

“Our focus is containment and peace-keeping,” he reiterated. “This could turn into another Ferguson in the blink of an eye. You’re there to keep the peace and keep casualties to a minimum. Property damage is going to happen, looting’s going to happen—it’s already happening—we need to keep people from hurting each other. Keep your eyes peeled for the innocent bystanders: the people trying to get home from work, people trying to get their kids. And if I hear one whisper of unnecessary force—” he stopped himself and shook his head. “Above the line every minute you’re outside the precinct, is that understood?”

There was a murmur of agreement and a wave of nods through the crowd. Darcy crossed her arms over her chest and tried not to think of the threats that Eddie’s father had received over the summer. The brick thrown through his front window. She glanced over and saw Eddie’s throat bob with a hard swallow. She caught his eye after a moment and offered him a quick smile. He reached across their desk and gave her arm a pat.

“I’m not fucking around, guys,” Driscoll finished gruffly. “People are angry. For Griffin and for a lot of other things. I know you all understand you’re putting a target on your back when you put your vest on,” he gave them a solemn nod. “I trust you remember who you’re sworn to protect out there.”

Darcy willed her stomach not to lurch in dread as one of the carts of bulletproof vests arrived from downstairs and she lined up to grab one.

 

***

 

Steve willed his mind to focus on the information populating the screens on the quinjet. He affixed his com to his ear and squinted at the data FRIDAY had cobbled together. “How often does FRIDAY look for this kind of stuff, Stark?” he asked, offhandedly as Tony returned to the controls and took the jet off autopilot.

“I run a continuous scan at all times, Captain Rogers,” the AI’s upbeat voice filled the cabin. “Mr. Stark has the scan calibrated with a specific algorithm designed to look for otherworldly technology and cross-reference with anything available from the SHIELD and Hydra files.”

“Why do you ask, Cap?” Tony called from the driver’s seat.

Steve shook his head. “Just wondering.”

“Wondering why it’s been two years since we caught a deal like this?” Natasha asked, appearing at his side while she tapped her speaker into her ear.

He glanced sideways. “Something like that.”

Tony cleared his throat. “FRIDAY? Any thoughts?”

“If there is evidence of a crime that can be handled by local law enforcement,” the bot chirped, “I send the information to them. In this instance, given the large quantity of tech and weapons, I informed Mr. Stark that a tactical strike from our team had a 67% greater chance of success than leaving it up to Baltimore police alone.”

“Don’t tell them that,” Natasha smirked before she raised her eyes to Steve’s again. “You okay?”

He glanced down at the hands he was stuffing into his gloves. “Yeah,” he said tightly. “I’m fine.”

When he looked up, she was still looking at him, her eyebrows lifted expectantly. “Okay,” she said after a moment. “Let me know if you change your mind about that.”

She waited another long moment before she moved her shoulders and retreated to the back of the quinjet without another word. Vaguely, Steve thought about going after her and apologizing for being so short.

What had happened with Bucky wasn’t entirely her fault, after all. He could have let him go off by himself; he could have resisted the urge to push and try to help and fix for once in his entire goddamn life.

“Hey,” Sam startled him from a certain downward spiral. With arms crossed and a contemplative look on his face, he approached Steve’s other side. “I’ve been meaning to ask,” he said, keeping his voice lower than usual, “how’s it going?”

More than once, Steve had wondered if Sam could read everyone so well or if it was just him.

He checked first to make sure that Natasha was distracted by her firearms before Steve cleared his throat and answered, matching Sam’s tone, “Two steps forward, one colossal, flying leap backward,” he shook his head. “And that’s on a good day.”

Briefly, he outlined what had transpired since they’d started sparring at the gym, trying to ignore the line of Sam’s mouth that got tighter and tighter with each detail. If Sam wanted to roll his eyes, he held back until Steve finished relaying his observations. Instead, he crossed his arms tighter and looked like his was fighting a disapproving glare. “I could’ve told you it was a bad idea letting her anywhere near him.”

“I didn’t think it made any sense to keep acting like there didn’t used to be something between them,” Steve grumbled back defensively. “And it’s not like we’ve been sitting up rehashing old times. I have no idea what happened between them before and until this morning I wasn’t even sure if he remembered either.”

“Well it sure sounds like he does,” Sam clipped before he glanced over his shoulder. “You talk to Nat about it yet?”

Steve shook his head. “I don’t know what to say,” he admitted. “And I thought it’d be helpful to keep at least one of them talking to me for at least a little while longer.”

“And Bucky’s with Darcy?”

He shook his head again. “No, she got called into work,” he admitted. “I didn’t want to leave him like that but—”

“Nah, man,” Sam agreed. “Duty calls. Doesn’t seem like he really wanted you around anyway. No offense.”

“I know,” Steve sighed. “I just...I just wish he’d let me know what’s going on with him a little bit more,” he admitted. “I know it’s never going to be like it was. I just...”

Sam offered a sad smile. “You miss your friend.”

He nodded. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “I do.”

Sam clapped a hand to his shoulder. “He’s gonna find his way back, Steve,” he said. “I’ve seen cases ten time more hopeless than his and I wouldn’t lie to you.” He gave his shoulder a quick squeeze. “Let’s just bust up this little arms-dealer antique roadshow and we’ll—”

“Touchdown in ten,” Wanda said as she brushed past them on her way from the front of the jet. “Should we do this in teams?” she asked glancing to Steve for confirmation.

He nodded and returned his attention to the screen and the building schematics.

It was a simple apartment complex near the harbor; looked like they could land on the roof and enter through any number of windows or HVAC points. Based on the intel FRIDAY had gathered, the seller, Gavin DeRois was camped out on the fifth floor, second from the top. An arms dealer from France, had come in the night before specifically for this trade. He would be leaving as soon as his money had arrived in the off-shore account FRIDAY had discovered, so the AI estimated they would only have a few minutes to seize the weapons, the tech, and all major players. If everything went according to plan, they would arrive with enough time to breach the DeRois’ apartment and apprehend everyone involved before they awaited the arrival of the buyers. With a little luck, they’d have a quinjet full of bad guys and be back in New York by dinner time.

Not the worst way to spend an afternoon, Steve decided with a little half-smile.

They landed on the roof as planned. Five minutes before the sale was scheduled to go down. Tony and Sam stationed themselves outside the apartment’s windows, ready to jet in as soon as Steve kicked down the door.

Two minutes.

He had Natasha on the opposite side of the door and Wanda behind him. Wanda’s fingers were pressed to her temple, keeping the other residents safely in their apartments.

Nat checked the sleek black watch on her wrist and drew her pistol. She nodded once.

_Go time._

Steve gripped his shield and breached the door with one, strong kick.

He heard glass shattering before the room exploded with the light and smoke of one of Stark’s flash-bombs.

“Hands up!” Tony commanded before Steve’s eyes had a chance adjust. “Everyone! Hands up!”

His heart racing and his mind working in overdrive, Steve took a fast surveillance of the room, trying to get a handle on how many they were dealing and develop a strategy on the fly while he waited for the smoke to clear.

He counted—

One.

Steve stopped and blinked. One person. A woman who looked to be in her sixties or seventies, in a wingback chair like the kind Darcy’s grandmother had in her living room.

The smoke dissipated as quickly as it arrived and the five of them stood, weapons still drawn, surrounding the woman, blinking at one another in confusion.

“What in the hell do you think you’re doing?” she asked, breaking the silence indignantly. “Just who do you think you are, breaking into an old lady’s apartment like you’re the goddamn SWAT team or something?” She threw off her afghan and got to her feet.

“Hey! Whoa!” Tony exclaimed, still pointing his wrist-mounted laser at her face. “Drop the...” his sigh echoed through his helmet. “Knitting needles.”

Natasha holstered her weapon as Steve lowered his shield. Wanda coughed. Tony’s mask lifted, revealing a perplexed expression. “FRIDAY, what’s going on?” he asked, his breathing still heavy from the rush of adrenaline.

“I’m not sure, sir,” the AI reported, sounding uncertain. “My intel was perfectly clear. According to the data, you’re in the right place.”

“The right place for what?” Their target had not dropped her knitting needles, but instead pointed one threateningly at Tony; a square of dark red yarn dangled from the edge. “The only thing you’re in the right place for is a strong beating unless I get some answers.”

Steve couldn’t help but be impressed by her anger and by the complete lack of fear at having her windows and doors kicked in while she was watching the morning news. Although, he had to figure, if she’d been living in this particular neighborhood for any amount of time, maybe they weren’t the scariest thing she’d ever encountered.

He was about to say something when fat tabby cat ran over his feet, growling and keeping her head low to the ground. He jumped back, surprised.

The owner of the apartment clucked her tongue and shook her head. “And now you’ve scared my poor cats,” she accused, following the animal with her eyes before she looked back at all of them.  They’d relaxed from their initial positions, surrounding her and had quietly taken a few steps to stand closer together, clustered on one side of the room.  She glared over the tops of her gold-rimmed, half-moon glasses. “Isn’t anybody going to tell me who you are and what the hell you want?”

They exchanged a quick glance before Sam cleared his throat. “You uh…” he coughed again and pushed his goggles up onto his head. “You don’t know a Gavin DeRois…do you?”

The woman raised an eyebrow. “I knew a Garret DeRossi,” she said without missing a beat. “But he died two…maybe three years ago.”

“Okay,” Sam accepted this with a nod. “And I guess it goes without saying that _you_ aren’t facilitating a major sale of weapons and technology say…” he glanced at his watch, “in the next five minutes or so?”

“The only thing I’m _facilitating_ is watching what I missed on _General Hospital_ while I was at the doctor’s yesterday and heating up some chili for lunch.” She glared at them. “Last time I checked, none ‘a that was causes for the special-goddamn-forces.”

Natasha began to offer apologies as Tony caught Steve’s attention and signaled him to step back. “What's going on?” he asked, keeping his voice low. “We’re wasting time if this sale is still going down. We need to figure out how FRIDAY got the location so wrong.”

“That’s just it, Cap,” Tony said, dropping his voice as well. “FRIDAY _didn’t_ get the location wrong. She’s a computer program—she can’t transpose numbers on an address or write down the wrong street name.”

Steve glanced around the small apartment; the family photos on the wall, the tea-towels and pot holders hanging above the butter yellow oven, the three bowls of cat food against the wall. “I can see most of this apartment from here,” Steve reminded tightly. “I don’t think she’s hiding DeRois and his personal army of bodyguards anywhere.”

“No, that’s what I’m saying,” Tony flipped open a hatch on the forearm of his suit and displayed a screen the size of a smartphone. “All the intel FRIDAY had right before we breached this place?” He scrolled through what looked like empty black screens. “It’s gone.”

“Gone?” Sam repeated, taking a step back to join them. “What do you mean?”

“I mean,” Tony rotated his arm so Sam could see the blank screens for himself, “what she collected is still on the server, but the original files—the emails, the account information, the money transfers—have all been scrubbed. Like it never existed.”

Steve’s eyebrows dipped closer together and he tightened his grip on his shield again. “You think this is a set-up?”

But Tony shook his head. “It doesn’t feel like a set-up,” he admitted. “Like you said, where’d anyone hide in this tiny little apartment? And if they wanted us here, they’ve had plenty of time to make a move. Plus,” his eyes shot up to his mask, “FRIDAY’s got nothing suspicious going on anywhere in the building.”

Steve clenched his jaw, not enjoying the anxious jump of his pulse and the way the hair on the back of his neck was standing up. “What’s the point in getting us all the way here, staging an arms deal so we break down the doors and windows and then deleting the intel?”

“So we look like the bad guys,” Sam suggested, the lines around his mouth dipped into a pensive frown. “Or at the very least, we look like we don’t know what we’re doing.”

“Yeah, but they didn’t need to bring us all the way to Baltimore to do that,” Steve said. “I mean, unless they wanted us...”

Tony glanced between the two of them. “Wanted us out of New York?” he finished expectantly. “Away from...” his expression dropped as the leaden weight of realization sank into Steve’s stomach.

Bucky.

 

***

 

Darcy shifted on the bench seat in the bus and handed her back plate to Eddie. He tucked it into the back pocket of her Kevlar vest, between her shoulder blades. She turned back around and waited for him to shift so she could return the favor.

The mood in the bus was grim. Each officer sat with their helmets and shields between their feet, swaying and bumping into one another each time the wheels rumbled over a pothole or came to a sudden stop.

Darcy cleared her throat as Eddie turned back around. “So African Violet, huh?” she asked finally.

The corner of Eddie’s lips twitched into a quick grin. “For three of the walls,” he said. “For the other one, where we’re gonna put the crib, Becca wants to paint white polka dots.”

Darcy smiled faintly. “That sounds sweet.”

Her partner shrugged. “Yeah, she found some curtains she really liked and decided she wants to do the whole thing with polka dots.” He smiled to himself and glanced down. “Whatever makes her happy, right?”

“Heck yes,” Darcy agreed. “And polka dots are cute and she’s not going to outgrow them anytime soon. Do you think you’re gonna need some help?”

Eddie shrugged again. “Sure,” he said. “Not with the painting, but I’ve gotta start putting this furniture together at some point.”

She smiled again. “Didn’t you save _anything_ from when Shawn was a baby? I can’t believe you had to buy all new stuff.”

Eddie laughed. “Yeah, well, after Shawn was born Becca told me she was never having another one and then gave all the baby furniture away as soon as he didn’t need it anymore.”

She sighed fondly. “I love our impulsive girlfriend.”

“Remind yourself of that when you’re trying to assemble a changing table with directions written in Swedish.”

“I remind myself of that every day,” Darcy assured him. “Also, you underestimate my Ikea-building skills, my friend. I didn’t get pre-assembled furniture until I moved in with Steve. And I probably wouldn’t have bought the good stuff even then, except,” she shrugged, “he’s kind of a grown-up and I feel like grown-ups deserve to sit on comfortable couches.”

Eddie grinned “Especially when they’re grown-up superheroes.”

“Especially then.”

They were quiet for another moment before Darcy bounced into Mulligan after an impressive series of potholes. She apologized quickly before she caught his grim expression. “Hey,” she gave him a nudge. “Buck up, buddy. It’s mostly going to be crowd control.”

He forced a quick, tight smile. “Yeah, I know,” he said quietly. “It’s just…” he shrugged. “Y’know.”

“It’s scary,” Eddie finished for him. “You’re not wrong, man,” he said, leaning over Darcy to catch Mulligan’s eye. “But we’ve got the easy job today and before you know it, this’ll all be old news and we’ll be drinking beer and building baby stuff.”

Mulligan’s smile relaxed into one a little more genuine. “Sure,” he said, and Darcy gave his knee a tap. “And if you need help, Lewis,” he added, “I’m really good at Ikea furniture too.”

Darcy looked up with another grin. “Good,” she said. “Because I was totally lying—I suck at building that shit. You build,” she decided. “I’ll read the directions.”

They bumped fists with a smile as Nowicki hollered from the front of the bus to gear up.

 

***

 

The wheels of the quinjet touched down in the center of North Meadow. The red dot of Bucky’s tracking device had been blinking in Central Park since Steve had activated it in Baltimore. Not the most inconspicuous place to bring a hostage, he had to admit, but not surprising if Hydra was no longer worried about maintaining a cover.

For the second time that day, he braced for a battle. His knuckles whitened as he gripped his shield and prepared for the door to open. His mind was clicking through his old familiar preparation tactics.

_Secure the target_

_Protect civilians_

_Apprehend the enemy_

The hum of the engines slowed to a low purr before they stopped altogether. Steve took a deep breath and clenched his jaw with determination.

_Secure the target_

There was a heavy, hydraulic sound as the doors unlocked. Natasha took her stance on his left as Sam stepped up on his right.

_Protect civilians_

They squinted in the afternoon sunlight as the doors slid open.

_Apprehend the enemy_

But there was no enemy.

No Hydra operatives, no arms dealers, not even any small-time criminals.

Just a group of little girls in private school uniforms, a pair of elderly chaperones, and standing in between them and the quinjet, Bucky.

Not being held hostage by Hydra.

Not dead or injured.

Not in any danger at all, except for the way the wind from the quinjet had whipped his hair into his eyes.

“What the fuck?” he asked, not bothering to raise his voice as he crossed his arms over his chest.

“You’re okay,” Steve said around an exhale as he jogged the short distance to reach him. “You’re not—” he stopped himself. “You’re okay.”

“Yeah…” he said slowly, glancing behind Steve as they were joined by Sam and Natasha. “So far.”

“You didn’t answer your phone,” Sam said.

“We were—” Natasha stopped herself and coughed. “Steve thought something might have happened to you.”

“And this is how you respond, Mr. Man with a Plan?” Bucky asked, motioning to the open hatch of the quinjet, Tony and Wanda lingering behind. “The whole team because I missed your call?”

“I called you seven times,” Steve said as the remorse of having made an incredibly rash decision began sinking in.

“Am I not allowed to shut my phone off sometimes?” he snapped. “Aren’t I on a short enough leash with my little microchip?” He dropped his arms. “I’m not trying to hurt your feelings here, Steve, but I feel like I’m sending a pretty clear signal that I want to be left alone.”

“Well if you’ve been here, fine, all day, why did we get sent on a fake mission to Baltimore?” Sam asked, coming to Steve’s defense while he was still struggling to string his thoughts together.

“How the fuck should I know?” Bucky demanded. “Not everything that goes wrong with you has something to do with me,” he reminded before he shook his head and turned away from them. He’d only taken a few steps before he turned back. “And, just so we’re clear, this is me, leaving on my own accord. I’m not being controlled or coerced or kidnapped. I’m just leaving.”

Steve watched him walk away, feeling worse by the second.

Sam clapped a hand to his shoulder. “We’ll just chalk it up to a training day,” he said. “And maybe you should give him a wide berth the next few days, just to be safe.”

“Yeah,” he agreed hollowly. “I just thought…”

Natasha shook her head. “Well, whoever was behind our false trail to Baltimore?” she glanced back in Bucky’s direction. “I don’t think he was their target.”

That didn't make Steve feel any better. That much was obvious and only made him realize how stupid he’d been.

Stupid.

Reckless.

Irrational.

All the things he’d been accused of being anytime Bucky was involved

“Then what was the point?” he asked, not expecting a real answer.

Sam shrugged. “We're not going to figure it out standing around here,” he reminded. “We'll just have to try to dig into the data Stark collected. See if we can figure out who was behind the fake sale.”

Steve opened his mouth to speak when he was interrupted by a tug on his free hand. He looked down into the hopeful expression of a little girl who looked to be about eight years old. “Excuse me,” she said politely, revealing a smile that was missing a few teeth. “Are you the real Captain America?”

He sighed and felt a smile creep over his lips. “Guilty as charged,” he said, watching how his answer brightened her face.

“Can I hold your shield?”

As the rest of the students shyly filtered over to join them, Steve offered his shield to her gladly, happy to have a brief distraction from his current lapse in judgement.

 

***

 

The scene on the bridge was more than Darcy had been expecting. Groups of activists and protesters brawled openly with one another. Bodies slammed against the concrete and cars that had been stopped by the crowds.

This wasn't like when the verdict had been read, she decided. Then, there had been a firm line between order and chaos, a barricade to watch and innocent bystanders to protect.

This was a war zone.

The protesters and their opponents might have started on different sides of the bridge, but by the time the police arrived, they were all together somewhere in the middle. And whereas before, when they’d been in the streets they had storefronts to destroy and places to loot in the melee; here on the bridge, they had nowhere to go but at each other's’ throats.

“Control and contain,” Nowicki had shouted the reminder as they’d pulled on their helmets and gripped their shields and piled out of the bus.

“Whaddya say, Lewis,” Eddie asked, flashing her a quick grin. “You take the fifteen hundred on the left? I’ll get the two thousand on the right?”

She offered her fist to bump against his and managed a smile back around the knot in her stomach. “Easy squeezy,” she assured him.  “And hey,” she caught Mulligan’s eye as he hefted his shield in front of him. “Watch those fingers,” she reminded. “There’s an Allen wrench with your name on it after all this.”

He flashed her another quick smile, tinged with gratitude before he and Rodriguez took off for the nearest dog pile of AntiFa protesters and men carrying signs that read _A Guilty Verdict is God’s Will_.

Darcy followed Eddie’s lead into the heart of the fray. There were people who had gotten stuck in their cars on the bridge; people with no opinion on Jared Griffin or the justice system one way or the other. People who were just trying to get home. Driscoll’s words about remembering who she was sworn to protect echoed in her mind as she squared her shoulders and prepared to muscle through the next few hours. She and Eddie worked well together, quickly untangling a few fist fights on their mission to find anyone looking for a safe exit from the madness.

Eddie spotted her first: a young woman in a beat-up red Cavalier, alternating between gripping the steering wheel and reaching back to a car seat behind her. Darcy’s stomach lurched again as they approached the car and she flashed her badge.

“It’s okay,” she called over the din of the crowd and through the closed window. “It’s okay, we’re going to help you out.”

The woman shook her head firmly as Eddie showed her his badge as well. He raised his visor and cupped his hands around his mouth. “Ma’am, you’re going to be stuck here a lot longer unless you let us help you.” His eyes darted to the little boy in the car seat with curly dark hair and frightened tears streaming down his tan face. “Come on,” he said patiently. “Let us get you both off this bridge safely.”

It was another few moments of hesitation before she finally relented and unbuckled her seatbelt. Eddie darted to the opposite side of the car and reached into the backseat to unbuckle the small boy from his seat. Darcy yanked open the driver’s door and let the woman tuck herself between Darcy and her shield while Eddie scooped up her son in his arms. She could feel her shaking as they took a few steps from the car.

“You’re going to be okay,” Darcy assured her. “We’re not going to let anything happen to you; just keep your head down and keep walking just like this, okay?”

She could hear Eddie behind her, talking to the boy like nothing was wrong. “You breathing okay, my man?” she heard him ask. “You’re doing a real good job, taking care of you mom, you know that? How old are you, buddy? Can you show me how many?” There was a pause before Darcy chanced a look back over her shoulder to see that Eddie had coaxed a smile from his charge and the boy was holding up four fingers. “Four?” Eddie asked with a laugh. “I don’t believe it. I say you’ve gotta be at least nine or ten.”

Her heart swelled at the sight of her partner having been able to stop the child’s tears and get him smiling again. “Your little guy’s fine,” she assured the woman in her care. “Eddie’s got him and they’re gonna be best friends by the time we get you to the other side of the bridge, okay?”

The woman gripped her arm and nodded, her sleek black hair brushing against Darcy’s cheek.

They made it back to the entrance of the bridge and delivered the pair to the uniformed officers stationed there. They passed the rest of the afternoon like that. One carload at a time, one difficult step in front of the other, heads down, shields up, dodging fists and flying objects as best they could.

“Hey,” Eddie called over after their fifth successful trip across the bridge, as he yanked Darcy down with him behind an abandoned car. A glass bottle shattered overhead. “You wanna grab a slice after this?”

She looked at him, incredulous for a moment before she grinned. “I just had pizza,” she said, matching his nonchalant tone. “What about sushi?”

“Ooh,” he nodded and motioned for her to stand up with him. “I could go for sushi.” Instinctively, he raised his shield and ducked down as another bottle sailed their way. “Hey!” he called over her head. “Do that again, you swastika-tattooed piece of shit!”

She turned to see where the bottle had come from. Sure enough, a skinny teenager with a Richard Spencer haircut and an honest-to-God armband shot them a smug smile that turned her stomach. “NYPD, motherfucker,” Eddie called, breaking away from her to approach their assailant head on. He held up his badge unnecessarily. “You know what that means?”

The kid was reaching for something in the waistband of his khakis when Eddie reached him. “Hands up!” Darcy exclaimed, reaching for her gun, relieved when he listened.

His expression turned into one of disgust as Eddie grabbed his bony wrists and turned him around, pinning him against the nearest car. “You can’t do shit to me,” he muttered, trying to squirm away from Eddie’s grasp. “I’m exercising my Constitutional rights.”

“Sorry,” Eddie said impatiently, “I couldn’t understand you with your face smashed against the car like that.” He yanked him backwards with ease. “What’d you say?”

The kid spun and pushed himself away from Eddie, knocking his head backward in surprise and sending his helmet flying. He bolted before either of them could recover; they lost him almost immediately in the crowd.

Eddie bent and grabbed his helmet, rubbing his short hair before he shook his head. “How old you think that kid was? Twelve? Thirteen?” Darcy snorted. “Seriously,” he continued. “I wanna call his mom. Privileged little fuck.”

“You know,” Darcy said thoughtfully, lifting her visor again so he could hear her. “I really thought you were finally going to have a chance to say it.”

Her partner looked confused. “Say what?”

“Your line!” she exclaimed. “The one you’ve been wanting to say since the first time you saw _Men in Black_! ‘NYPD means I will—’”

“Knock. Your. Punkass. _Down_ ,” Eddie finished in unison and clapped their hands together in a high-five. “Goddammit, you’re right,” he said with regret. “That would’ve been perfect.”

“Next time,” Darcy assured him.

He grinned back. “Next time.”

If there was something else she wanted to say, she didn’t have a chance. Their words were still hanging in the air between them, their laughter fresh on their faces, when the bombs went off.


	9. Nine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember how last time I said this story is emotionally challenging and much more difficult than most of what I do as a writer? Well this chapter in particular was really--REALLY--emotionally taxing.
> 
> So, that being said, I hope you enjoy it and that I don't hurt your feelers too much. 
> 
> *Big Kisses*

 

Twelve explosions.

Twelve, simultaneous explosions that detonated at 12:15pm on eight bridges and four tunnels that connected Manhattan to the rest of the city.

Twelve bombs.

One hundred and nineteen dead so far. Seven of them cops.

Eight hundred wounded. At least.

Darcy had been focusing on numbers since she’d been brought to the hospital.

Four bruised ribs.

One perforated eardrum.

Eleven hours since Nowicki had pulled her from between the cars on the bridge.

Three stitches promised to the laceration on her cheekbone.

Ten hours since she’d had to let go of Eddie’s hand when they pushed him behind the swinging doors of the ER.

She was pretty sure Nowicki’s arm was broken, the way he was holding it against his chest as he sat, somber-faced beside her. He had refused treatment when they arrived at Mount Sinai, waving the nurses and EMTs behind them to keep fielding the cases worse than his.

Twice he’d been approached by a different nurse, asking if he wanted it looked at. He’d waved them off too.

“You should let them set that, Sarge,” Darcy said after the second, less harried nurse had returned to the choked waiting room, looking for someone else too help. Her voice was hoarse, nearly gone. There was dust and blood caked on her shoes, in her hair, under her fingernails.

“They can look at it when they bring me an update on Kimball,” Nowicki said gruffly. Darcy watched as his eyes shot across the waiting room to where Becca had placed herself in the corner chair, Shawn curled up, asleep in her lap, her fingers absently stroking his curly hair.

Nowicki had been the one to call Becca and make sure she could get herself and Shawn to the hospital as soon as possible; at some point, Darcy wanted to make sure she said thank you to her sergeant. That wasn’t a call she was certain she could have made without breaking down.

She wanted to get up, to go and sit with them and comfort them. But there was nothing to say. No amount of hand-holding or empty words of optimism that would make this any better. The weight of it kept her sitting, staring listlessly at her shoes.

Nine hours and forty-nine minutes since anyone had said anything about Eddie.

“What about Rogers?” Nowicki asked after another long minute of silence.

Darcy opened her mouth to respond but closed it again. She didn’t trust herself to get the words out. The truth was, she had no idea where Steve was. If he’d been gone during the attack or if he’d been back yet; whether he and the rest of the team had been near any of the blasts. She didn’t even know if he knew what had happened, let alone where she was and that she was okay.

Nowicki would have called Steve for her too, she realized, if she had ever updated her emergency contact information with the department. Right now, Eddie was listed as her first call in a worst-case-scenario. It had made enough sense to leave it like that when she updated her information with HR last April. Eddie was her best friend, after all. She’d want any bad news to come from him, no matter who was on the other end of the line.

It had never even occurred to her that he wouldn’t be around to make those calls. That she should have a back-up plan.

She added one shattered cell phone to her numbered list of damages and losses. It had all but exploded when the bomb had slammed her against the side of the nearest car on the bridge. She could have tried her best to remember his number and use one of the hospital phones, but the lines had been choked all afternoon. She’d been listening to dozens of people walk past in tears and hysterics, unable to get through to their loved ones.

It was like 9/11 all over again.

The panic. The helplessness. The senseless violence and innocent lives lost.

Only this time, instead of being a terrified ninth-grader, watching the news in Social Studies class with wide-eyed panic, she was stuck in the thick of it. Sworn to serve and protect and supposedly one of those helpers everyone was always looking for. Someone who was supposed to be able to do something about all of this.

Just as helpless, just as useless, as she’d been that Tuesday morning in 2001.

Nowicki surprised her with a soft, fatherly pat to her knee. “He’ll find you, Lewis,” he said, not looking at her.

She swallowed down the lump in her throat and nodded. “Yeah,” she managed. “I know.”

They resumed their silent vigil for the next hour and a half before Darcy’s patience started to wear thin. “I’ve gotta...” she curled her fingernails into her scraped palms and bounced the balls of her feet against the cheap, green carpet of the waiting room. “I can’t sit here anymore,” she said, getting to her feet. She glanced down at Nowicki. “Shitty hospital coffee?”

He nodded. “Two sugars.”

She approached Becca with caution and took the seat beside her. “Hey,” she said softly, startling the other woman from her thoughts.

Becca offered a tight, polite smile. “I would’ve thought we’d hear something by now,” she said, her voice barely more than a whisper.

Darcy reached over and laced their fingers together. “My mom would say that’s a good thing,” she said softly. “It means they’re working.”

She exhaled a joyless little chuckle and raised her eyebrows. “Is that what _you_ think?”

Darcy took a deep breath and squeezed her friend’s hand. “I think that we’ve both gone a really long time without anything to eat,” she said diplomatically. “I’m going to go get something from downstairs. What would you like?”

Becca shrugged. “I should probably say something healthy,” she mused. “But all I really want is a chocolate bar with almonds. You think they have that? Maybe in a vending machine or something?”

Darcy smiled. “I will _make_ you a chocolate bar with almonds if I have to,” she promised before she let her eyes fall to the sleeping child in Becca’s lap. “Anything for little man?”

Becca shook her head. “No, I just want to let him sleep.”

She nodded and got up with some difficulty, turning away to hide her wince as her sides wrenched in protest. Her hand reached for the wall to steady herself as soon as she turned out of the waiting room. It wasn’t just the pain of her injuries; the state of the hallway offered a wave of nausea that almost knocked her over.

All of the hospitals probably looked the same, she realized with a heavy, sinking sadness. They’d been hit all at once; overwhelmed from all fronts. Rubber gloves, paper towels, and bandage wrappers littered the floor. Gurney wheels had tracked trails of blood all up and down the tiles. A few of the red, black and green tags they’d used to quickly triage the ocean of emergencies were still stuck to the nursing stands. One clung to an abandoned crash cart.

The first two vending machines she tried were out of almost everything, but each held a tag for a Hershey’s with almonds. Darcy took a deep breath and descended the stairs closest to the main nurse’s station. It took considerably longer than it should have and she had to stop on the landing to catch her breath and pinch back the tears threatening to slide down her cheeks. There was only one other person in stairwell with her: a middle-aged man in bloodstained blue scrubs and a bandana. He sat at the foot of the stairs, head in his hands. He didn’t look up when she passed him.

The machine on the third floor was more of a walk than she’d bargained for. Keeping her hand out to steady herself if she needed it, Darcy made her way slowly, but deliberately down the hall. She’d almost made it to her destination when a conversation between two administrators caught her attention as they breezed past.

“It’s a nightmare down in the ambulance bay,” a woman was saying to a younger man who was racing to keep up with her. “Half of these EMTs have no idea where they’re going or how to handle an event like this. I’ve never seen such disorganization—they’re going to get people killed.”

“Well didn’t Barbie used to—”

They turned a sharp corner before Darcy heard the end of the man’s sentence but the name ‘Barbie’ stopped her cold. Barbie. Barbara. Barb Guadio—admin for the city’s first responders who’d died suddenly only a few weeks ago. Barb Guadio, whose picture and obituary were hanging on her wall at work, her death just a little too suspicious to be ignored in the grand scheme of the rest of their conspiracy theory.

Darcy swallowed hard and squeezed her eyes shut, trying to ignore the pain in her head. It was possible she’d misheard that guy, she reminded herself. Or that they were talking about a different Barbie. That none of this was connected to her case and they were all just victims of some terrible, unrelated attack.

But that didn’t feel right either.

She wanted to sprint after them, flash her badge and demand that they repeat themselves. But she was too weak and too slow to do anything more than make a note to follow up on that later and return her focus to her candy bar mission.

There were two almond Hershey’s left in the machine at the end of the hall. At an astonishingly cheap $.75 each, Darcy was tempted to buy both, just to try and coax a smile from Becca and take her mind off everything for half a second. But her own smile dropped away as quickly as it had appeared when she reached for her back pocket and realized her debit card was not there.

It was in her wallet.

In her purse.

On her desk at the precinct.

She placed her palms on the glass and stared at the chocolate bars until her vision swam with tears and she had to drop her eyes, unable to stare at her reflection any longer. Her forehead touched the glass before the first tear hit her boot. That tear was joined quickly by a second and a third until Darcy felt her shoulders shake with the effort it was taking to hold in the sob that desperately wanted to force itself up from her throat.

“Darcy?”

She stopped with a sharp inhale as her eyes flew open. Steve was standing behind her. She stared at their reflection for a long, hard moment before she forced herself to swallow and turn around. He looked bad too. Tired and disheveled and with little cuts and abrasions all over his arms and hands and face. His eyes grew glassy for a second before he closed his arms around her and pulled her to his chest.

Shock kept her frozen for a long moment before she felt herself start to melt against him, the frantic beating of his heart next to her ear coaxed her eyes closed and a wobbly exhale from her lips. “Hi,” she said softly as her arms circled his waist and she curled her fingers around the material of his jacket.

Steve let out a wet laugh and pulled away. “Hi,” he repeated and took her face in his hands. “Fuck, Darcy, I wasn’t sure I was ever going to see you again.”

“I’m here,” she said weakly. “I’m sorry I couldn’t call you. My phone—”

“It’s okay,” he assured her; his thumb brushed lightly over the slice on her cheek. “You’re okay, right?”

“Where were you—”

“Central Park,” he said resting his hands on her shoulders. “The callout was a—” Steve stopped himself and shook his head. “It doesn’t matter. The rest of the team split up to assist where we could and I…”

She raised her eyebrows. “What?”

He exhaled another shaky breath and ran his hands over her messy hair. “I’ve been checking every floor of every hospital this side of the river.”

She swallowed hard. “I’m really sorry I couldn’t—”

“It’s fine,” Steve insisted, pulling her in and dropping his lips against the stop of her head. “It’s fine. You’re okay. That’s all I care about.” He stopped again and pulled back to meet her eyes. “You _are_ okay…right?”

She nodded and swallowed as that lump rose in her throat again. “Yeah,” she croaked. “I’m—”

Steve covered her lips with his, breathing in whatever lie she was going to offer. He pulled away after a moment and rested his forehead against hers. “Where were you when—”

“I was...” she stopped and swallowed. “We were on the Manhattan bridge,” she said. “We were just trying to do damage control from the riot and we didn’t...” she shook her head and looked down, the words dying on her lips.

“But you’re...” Steve stopped and ducked his head, trying to meet her eyes. “You’re okay,” he repeated. “Everybody’s...”

Tears rose unforgivingly in Darcy’s eyes again as she shook her head. “Mulligan’s dead,” she said, finally trusting herself to say the words out loud. That the sweet, baby-faced officer they all treated like a little brother was gone. “And two uniforms from the 73rd. And Eddie...” His name was a strangled squeak in the back of her throat.

“What?” Steve asked, tilting her head up to meet his gaze. “What happened to Eddie?”

“We got into a...” she stopped again and pressed her lips together. “There was this little Nazi piece of shit that knocked his helmet off and he didn't have—” her heart started racing again her breath grew short. Every quick inhale brought her a brilliant burst of fresh pain to her ribs. “We were just fucking around, and he didn't—he should have put it back on, but we were—” she shook her head again. “It just happened so fast.”

Steve pulled her back in for another tight hug. The tears finally breached her eyes and crashed down onto her cheeks, soaking quickly into Steve's shirt while her words fell from her lips in a panicked tangle. “He's been in surgery for hours and Becca's downstairs with Shawn and—and they won't tell us anything and I can’t do this right now. I...I have to stop crying,” she pulled away to swipe roughly at her eyes; a futile attempt to stem her tears. “I can't go back there like this,” she pressed a hand to her racing heart. “Becca’s not even crying,” she muttered, shaking her head. “Fuck, this isn’t normal...I can't—Steve, I feel like I can't breathe—”

Steve took hold of her hands and pulled her gently to a nearby empty chair. He pushed her down gently crouched to be at eye level. He held her face delicately and kept his eyes on hers. “You can breathe,” he instructed, his voice low, but firm. Commanding. “You need to take one deep breath. Right now. Don't think about anything else but that.”

She did as he asked, inhaling through her nose, dealing with the pain in her sides in favor of catching her breath. She let it slide past her lips on the exhale.

“Two more,” he insisted, breathing with her until her heart slowed again and she could swallow without feeling like she was going to vomit.

“Okay,” she said quietly, when her panic had subsided. “I'm okay.” She reached up and covered his hand with hers, keeping him holding her cheek and soaking in as much comfort as she could. “Can you...” she stopped and shook her head, feeling stupid for almost asking like that. “Can we go back downstairs?” she asked quietly. “I don’t want to be gone too long in case—”

Steve leaned forward and pressed his lips to her forehead. “Of course.”

Darcy thought she’d feel better, having Steve holding her hand when she returned to the waiting room. But she didn’t. She didn’t even remember to feel guilty for returning otherwise empty-handed because by the time she and Steve made their way back to the waiting room, the surgeon had returned from the OR with news about Eddie.

 

 

By the time Becca was allowed back to see him, it was after midnight. Shawn, blinking sleepily beside her as he clutched Darcy’s hand while they made their way back through the maze of the ICU rooms, looked up at her with concern. “Where are we going, Darcy?” he asked, his voice thick with sleep.

Darcy swallowed hard and squeezed his hand. “We’re gonna go see your dad,” she said, hoping her face at least somewhat matched her optimistic tone.

Shawn’s face contorted in confusion. “But didn’t the doctor say he was sleeping?”

No. The doctor had said he’d sustained significant head trauma when he’d been blown into the windshield of the nearest car on the bridge. That he’d cracked two ribs in the landing and one of them had punctured his lung. That his chest was filling with blood by the time they’d opened him up and he’d almost died twice on the table.

The doctor had said they’d done all they could to stabilize him. That they wouldn’t know the extent of his injuries until he woke up.

And no one had said when they thought that might be.

But Darcy swallowed those words down and nodded. “Yeah,” she said, clearing her throat. “But even if he’s asleep, your dad’s gonna want to know that we’re here for him and that we’re hoping he wakes up soon. Don’t you think?”

Still with bleary eyes, and not quite understanding what all what going on, Shawn let her walk him to the room at the end of the hall. A weary nurse held up a hand as they approached the door. “I’m sorry,” she said, addressing Darcy. “It’s family only.”

“She’s family,” Becca said firmly from inside the room. When the nurse, looking unconvinced, glanced from her back to Darcy, she added with a wry smile, “she’s his sister. Can’t you see the resemblance?”

The nurse sighed and waved them both through. Darcy felt a tug on her hand as she realized that Shawn hadn’t joined her beyond her first steps into the room. She caught his wide eyes, his locked knees, and took a deep breath as she carefully got down on her knees to be at eye-level with him. “I know this is scary,” she said, placing her hands on his shoulders. “But all these machines? All these sounds? They’re all good things, okay?” He nodded, looking unconvinced. “These are all things that are helping your dad get better and stronger and making sure he’s okay while he’s sleeping.” 

 “He doesn’t look like he’s sleeping,” Shawn insisted in a small voice, as his dark eyes filled with tears. “And he doesn’t look like Daddy.”

Darcy had to agree. They’d shaved and bandaged Eddie’s head and had to intubate when his lung had collapsed during surgery. The thick plastic tubing had been taped to his mouth and his hands and arms were wired with dozens of IVs.

“Come here, baby,” Becca commanded softly, beckoning to him from the other side of Eddie’s bed. Reluctantly, Shawn made his way over, steering clear of the bed, like he was afraid to get too close. With some difficulty, Darcy got back to her feet in time to watch Becca pull Shawn back into what was left of her lap and turned them so he was facing his father. Carefully, Becca turned Eddie’s hand palm-side up so the underside of his arm was exposed. “What do you see?” she asked, pointing to the bottom half of the intricate lion tattoo Eddie’d had done when Shawn was born. “Come on,” she urged, not accepting her son’s silence as an answer, “tell me what I’m pointing at.”

“My lion,” he answered softly.

“That’s right,” she said, pressing her cheek to his curly hair. “That’s Daddy’s tattoo.  And...” she moved the hospital sheets and slid the corner of Eddie’s hospital gown up to reveal his stomach and the pale appendectomy scar on his right side. “What about that?”

“That’s Daddy’s sword fight scar.”

Darcy had to bite back a smile while Becca adjusted the linens again and rested her head on his shoulder. “So, he’s got Daddy’s scars and Daddy’s tattoo,” she said and let a half-smile creep onto her lips. “And you know when they unwrap those bandages, what are we gonna see?”

Shawn glanced back at his mother. “Daddy’s big Dumbo ears.”

Becca managed a giggle and kissed his cheek. “That’s right,” she said, blinking quickly so that only Darcy caught the tear that sparkled her eyes. “So, this has to be Daddy, right?” Shawn nodded slowly. “And he would say it’s okay to be scared, wouldn’t he?” Shawn nodded again. “And that it’s okay to cry, right?”

“Right.”

“But Daddy still needs us to believe that he’s going to get better and come home soon, okay?”

The nurse appeared in the doorway again and cleared her throat. “I’m sorry,” she said, looking genuine this time. “We’ve extended visiting hours as much as we could today. I’m afraid I have to ask you to come back in the morning.”

The smile she’d been shining on for Shawn’s sake disappeared from Becca’s face as her eyes met Darcy’s for a moment. “Oh,” she said, glancing between the nurse and Eddie once before she nodded. “Okay, I…I’ll just…”

“I’ll take Shawn back to the waiting room,” Darcy put in quickly. “Give you a minute to say goodnight.”

 _Goodnight_ , she repeated to herself. Not goodbye. No one was saying goodbye.

Shawn caught sight of Steve and broke away from Darcy well before they reached the end of the hall so he could claim the seat beside him. She flashed Steve a quick, grateful smile and turned back around so Becca wouldn’t have to walk back alone.

The nurse was just outside the room, making notes on a clipboard when Darcy arrived. She took as deep a breath as she could and stopped in the open doorway. Becca had scooted her chair as close to Eddie’s bedside as possible and held his hand to her cheek. “I’ll be back as soon as I can,” she said, her voice just above a whisper and pressed a kiss to his palm. “Don’t think you’re getting rid of me this easily.”

 

Steve had been to Eddie’s house a million times in the year and a half he and Darcy had been together. Oftentimes it was without Eddie being home—times he dropped off Becca from an event or when Darcy left something important and he volunteered to grab it for her. He’d picked up their mail when they went on vacation and fed Shawn’s turtle for him, he and Darcy each had their own key; they’d eaten dinners on the patio and set off sparklers and bottle rockets on the Fourth of July in the backyard. But he’d never appreciated Eddie’s presence until he felt his absence as the four of them stood in the doorway.

Darcy put an arm around Becca’s shoulders after she’d helped her out of her coat. “I can make you some tea,” she suggested softly. “If you want to take a shower or something before bed.”

Becca blinked the dazed look away from her eyes and shook her head. “No, I should…” she glanced down and Steve followed her gaze to where Shawn had latched onto his hand. Her throat bobbed with a hard swallow. “We gotta get you to bed, little man. It’s way past your bedtime.”

His little face contorted for a moment. “Mom, do I have to go to school tomorrow?”

She smiled sadly. “Not tomorrow, baby. I think we can both take a day off tomorrow.”

Shawn squeezed his hand again. “Can Steve read me a chapter?” he asked quietly, glancing down for a long moment before he looked up again. “I don’t think I’m sleepy yet.”

Becca opened her mouth to protest, but Steve watched the words die on her lips. “Sure,” she said with a small shrug. “If he—” she stopped and looked back at him. “If you don’t mind, I mean.”

“Of course not,” he agreed quickly before he dropped his eyes down to Shawn. “Lead the way, buddy.”

Shawn’s hand stayed stuck to his while they made their way up to his bedroom. Steve waited while Shawn changed into his pajamas and climbed into bed before he sat down on the edge and glanced at the bedside table. “So, what are we reading, pal?”

“Steve?” Shawn asked in a small, timid voice. “Can I ask you a question?” He looked up with wide, frightened eyes. “I don’t want to ask Mom.”

He felt his stomach clench with dread before he forced himself to nod. “Of course,” he said, shifting so he was facing the little boy instead of sitting beside him. “Anything.”

Shawn was quiet for another long moment before spoke again. “Did someone hurt my dad ‘cause he’s black?”

Steve’s heart sank quickly with a deep sigh. “No,” he said firmly. “No; your dad was hurt because he was on that bridge trying to help people. Because he was doing his job and whoever set off those bombs…” he stopped and shook his head. “They were bad people who just wanted to hurt everyone, okay? And we’re all going to get to work and figure out who they are and make sure they can’t ever do this again. Got it?”

Shawn nodded but didn’t look convinced. Steve didn’t blame him—he wasn’t entirely sure he had himself convinced. Shawn waited another moment before he swallowed hard and glanced in the direction of the hallway at the sound of the shower running in the bathroom next door. “Steve?” he asked again, his voice even smaller than before.

“Yeah, buddy?”

“Do you think my dad’s going to die?”

The question pulled the breath from his lungs in another _whoosh_ before he could stop it. He pursed his lips and steadied himself. “I don’t…” he closed his eyes and started again. “I don’t know, Shawn,” he said honestly. “But I’ll tell you what I do know.” He placed a hand on Shawn’s shoulder. “I know your dad is one of the bravest, strongest men I’ve ever met,” he said seriously. “And I know that he loves you and your mom more than anything in the world. So, I have to think that if it’s up to him, he’s going to do everything he can to stay with you. Don’t you think?”

Shawn nodded slowly and blinked back his tears. “I hope so,” he said, and after a few deep, deliberate breaths, he began shifting to lay his head down on the pillows. “I got _Goosebumps_ out of the library,” he said, pointing to the stack of paperbacks on the bedside table. “But I don’t want to read anything scary tonight,” he admitted with a thoughtful frown.

It was Steve’s turn to nod in agreement. “I’m glad you said that,” he patted Shawn’s hair with a smile. “I’m not sure I’m brave enough to read _Goosebumps_ tonight.” He got up and examined Shawn’s overstuffed bookshelf before his eyes caught a familiar title. He plucked _Peter Pan_ from the shelf and held it up. “How do you feel about this one?”

Shawn shrugged against his blankets. “I like the movie.”

“Well, if you liked the movie, you’re going to love the book,” he promised and resumed his seat on the edge of Shawn’s bed. He didn’t mention it was one of his favorites when he was a kid; or how reading it now, even as an adult, he could still hear his mother’s voice reading the words they both knew by heart. “Wanna give it a try?” Shawn nodded and offered a small smile of encouragement as Steve cracked the spine and opened to the first page. He cleared his throat and took a deep breath. _“All children,”_ he began, “ _except one, grow up. They soon know that they will grow up and the way Wendy knew was this. One day, when she was two years old, she was playing in a garden, and she plucked another flower and ran with it to her mother. I suppose she must have looked rather delightful because Mrs. Darling put a hand to her heart and cried, ‘Oh, why can’t you remain like this forever?’”_

A creaking floorboard pulled Steve’s attention away from the page for a moment and he glanced up to find Darcy leaning in the doorway. They exchanged sad, tired smiles before he looked back at his charge, surprised to find his eyes fighting to stay open. He could have stopped after the next few sentences and turned off the light, but Steve returned his attention to the book and continued to read.

Shawn wasn’t the only one who wanted a moment’s reprieve from the real world.

 

Darcy stood listening to Steve read about Peter and Wendy and the other Darling children until the water in the bathroom stopped rushing. There was a part of her gut that twisted at the sight of Steve and Shawn together, how naturally at ease he was with kids, the truth of how _great_ of a parent he’d be. There were plenty of times she’d entertained the thought—every three months when she scheduled her birth control shot and had to take a pregnancy test, those times when Steve dropped whatever he was doing to give personalized attention to a child who asked for an autograph, and on those very rare occasions she let herself catch up on social media and was reminded of how many of her friends _already_ had children—and it was always a nice thought. A nice thought of an imaginary baby that had nothing to do with the reality that always came creeping back in, slowly but surely, if she entertained it for too long.

The reality that reminded her of the very _real_ baby in Becca’s belly that might not ever get to meet her father.

The reality that it was only dumb luck that _she_ wasn’t the one vegetating in the hospital right now instead of Eddie.

The reality that someone had just set off twelve different bombs in an attempt to kill as many people as they possibly could in one fell swoop.

That while finding and stopping these people was what she’d wanted to do for as long as she could remember, it didn’t leave a lot of room for a reality filled with bedtime stories and blonde-haired, blue-eyed babies.

The door to the bathroom opened and Darcy pushed away her troubling, impossible thoughts and refocused her attention on her friend. Becca had changed into an NYU t-shirt Darcy recognized as one of Eddie’s and a pair of baggy basketball shorts. With the waistband pulled up high over her belly, she didn’t need to cinch the drawstring and they almost fit her. She’d washed off what makeup hadn’t been cried away and pulled her braids up and away from her face.

“I made you some tea,” Darcy said, following her into her bedroom when she was waved inside. “You had some chamomile downstairs,” she added when Becca picked up the mug and smelled the steam rising from the rim. “Should help you sleep.”

The other woman took a sip and closed her eyes, breathing in another deep inhale. “Thanks,” she said softly before she added, “for doing all of this.”

Darcy smiled sadly. “You guys are my only friends,” she reminded in a half-hearted attempt at humor. “And I know you’d do the same for me.”

Becca sat down on the edge of the bed and reached out a hand for Darcy. “Of course we would,” she assured her, offering a moment of a grateful smile before her face crumpled again and two, fat tears slipped down her cheeks. “I just realized,” she said when Darcy sat down next to her. “His family doesn’t know. His parents and his sister and—”

Darcy wrapped an arm around her shoulders and squeezed her tightly to her side. “Don’t worry about them right now,” she insisted. “We have time to call them in the morning, once you’ve gotten some sleep. And if you want, I can help you make those calls, or get someone at the station to make them for you.”

“No, no,” Becca shook her head. “I need to be the one to tell them, I just…I can’t believe I forgot.”

“Look,” Darcy gently coaxed her friend’s head to rest on her shoulder. “You’re stressed and scared and exhausted and if _anyone_ gives you shit about _anything_ I will find an excuse to arrest them, got it?”

Becca huffed out a joyless chuckle. “Got it,” she repeated.

“Good,” Darcy turned her head and pressed a quick kiss to the top of Becca’s head. “Now get under the covers and try to get some sleep, please.” She stood up and folded back the sheets behind her. Once Becca had settled in, her pillows situated between her knees and the rest nested around her, Darcy resumed her seat on the edge of the bed. “Steve and I can stay the night if you want.”

Becca shook her head. “No, I think we should…” she stopped herself and started again. “I want things to be as normal as possible for Shawn,” she decided aloud. “I don’t want him thinking we’re preparing for the worst.”

Darcy nodded and squeezed her hand. “You got it,” she said before she bent and kissed Becca’s temple. “But we’re here if you need anything, okay? I don’t care what time it is—you can call Steve until my phone’s back in action and then me anytime after that. Deal?”

Becca nodded again. “Deal.”

Darcy was halfway to the door when Becca said her name again. “Yeah?” she asked, turning around.

“I wasn’t kidding,” she said, hugging the pillow closest to her chest. “What I said at the hospital to that nurse.” She offered a small smile. “I know you idiots never say anything nice to each other, but he loves you as much as he loves Indi.”

She swallowed around another unwelcome lump in her throat. “I know,” she said tightly. “I love him too. Just,” she cleared her throat, “y’know, don’t tell him that. He’ll never let me live it down if I get all mushy first.”

Becca rolled her eyes. “Idiots,” she muttered as Darcy—grateful for one moment that almost felt normal—turned out the light and pulled the door closed.

 

They locked up the house and caught a cab home. Darcy watched the city lights streak past the window, wishing the driver would turn up the volume on his podcast so she could drown out the sounds of the sirens still wailing outside.

The longer she listened, though, the more the sound unearthed a memory she’d cast aside earlier. Something she’d heard at the hospital.

First responders.

Barbie.

“Where was Bucky?” she asked, breaking the silence of the backseat.

Steve looked up, confused. “What?”

“Today,” she clarified. “When all this was going on,” she motioned to the city beyond the car’s window. “Where was he?”

Steve opened his mouth and closed it again. “I don’t know,” he admitted finally.

She raised her eyebrows. “Why not?”

“We…” he struggled for a moment before he let out a breath. “We had a fight and he asked to be left alone. I…figured he needed some time to himself.” He waited another moment, watching the wheels turn in her head before he cleared his throat. “Darcy, you can’t think he had anything to do with this.”

“No,” she shook her head a little too quickly. “I don’t think…” she stopped and tried to gather her thoughts. “I just want to talk to him.”

But the longer it took them to get home, the more the events of the day started simmering beneath her skin. The longer she had to think about it, the longer all the hurt and confusion and anger started twisting her gut, looking for a target, needing someone to follow. Needing someone to blame.

She wasn’t sure it was a good thing or a bad thing that Bucky was waiting for them when they got home. He stood up from the couch and turned off the tv. “Hey,” he said, his face folded in a look of genuine concern. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” she said, dropping her jacket on the ground. “You?”

He nodded with a shrug. “I’m fine.”

She nodded back. “Good. Where the fuck were you?”

“Darcy—” Steve interjected firmly.

“Answer the question, Bucky,” she demanded, shrugging Steve’s hand away before he could reach her. “Where were you today?”

“I was in the park,” he said, his moment of confusion faded. “I was in the park and then after—” he cut himself short. “After the explosion, I went to the closest blast sight I could find and tried to help anyone who might need it.”

“Which one?”

“The Queensborough,” he snapped immediately. “You wanna ask me anything else, Officer Lewis?” He raised his eyebrows accusingly. “Wanna ask me if I did it? If I’m still being controlled by the people who did?”

“I wanna know what the fuck happened today,” she exclaimed, all the emotions she’d been pushing down all night swimming up to the surface.

“I don’t know!” Bucky cried, finally raising his voice.

“Hey!” Steve barked, making a move to stand between the two of them.

Darcy ignored him took a step toward Bucky and grabbed his shirt, only pulling herself closer when he didn’t budge an inch. “I lost friends tonight. I may lose more and all of sudden, after everything that you’ve given me, hours and hours of conspiracy theories and months of research,” she let him go and dropped back from her tiptoes. “Now you just have no idea? Like this was some random act of violence that has nothing to do with why you came here.”

“What do you want me to say, Darcy?” he fired back.

“I want you to tell me why you've been able to predict every last fucking thing that's gone wrong in this city for the last year and a half and now, when my friends are in the morgue, you can't come up with anything better than ‘I don't know.’”

“Well I don't!” he exclaimed. “I can't give you information I don't have.”

“Do better!” she demanded. “You don’t get to say ‘I don’t know’, Bucky. Not after everything I put on the line for you.”

A tense, heavy silence swam between them as Bucky's face softened.

“Darcy—I’m sorry about your friends but…” he shook his head. “This couldn’t be part of the plan. Not…” his eyes dropped to the space between them. “Not with the groups I’ve been talking about.”

She swallowed hard, her flash of anger felt less volatile now. It was a little easier to breathe. “Why not?” she asked, taking another step back as she crossed her arms over her chest.

“This kind of…spectacle,” he said, after a moment’s consideration. “This shock-and-awe. It’s so public and so…unnecessarily violent. There’s no reason for it.” He shook his head again. “There’s no one I trained with that would have invited this kind of attention.” He watched his admission settle over her face and waited another long moment before he spoke again. “But I know how much you put on the line for me, Darcy. And if there's anything I have--anything I can do--that'll help you figure out who did this,” he ducked his head and met her eyes. “It's yours. I'm with you.”

Darcy felt her lips twitch into a half smile. “Til the end of the line?”

With the smirk he offered, she thought she might have gotten a glimpse of the Bucky Steve remembered from before. The one buried under so much darkness. “Apparently,” he answered, flicking his gaze from Steve to Darcy and back again. “Since you two reckless jackasses are a package deal.”

She let out a tired laugh and leaned into Steve when he put an arm around her shoulders. “I was just thinking the same thing about you two.”

Steve's phone buzzing in his pocket startled all three of them and sent Darcy's heart plummeting to her stomach at the possibility of it being Becca, needing them after all.

But it wasn't Becca. It was Sam, telling them to turn on the news.

Bucky did, confused as the anchor, looking visibly shaken, appeared to be reading from the teleprompter. “We're going to play the video just once more. Please know that it is not in the mission of Channel 4 to spread panic or sensationalize a tragedy like we have experienced today. This will be the last time we will share this footage.”

But Darcy wasn't focused on what she was saying, but the ticker of trending topics running along the bottom of the screen. _Terrorists blame cops, elected officials, even Avengers for today's tragedy in viral video. President Trump tweets support for New York from Mar-a-Lago, reiterates support for his wall. #wherewereyou trending as New Yorkers struggle to understand why no one saw this coming._

The screen went black for a second before the lights went up and cast a figure in silhouette. “Did we get your attention?” The figure spoke not in one voice, but in a chorus of at least a dozen. “At what point did we all realize that no one was coming to save us today? That we were on our own? Perhaps some of you still think your heroes will be there to put our city back together. But they won't.” A chill ran down Darcy's spine as the video continued.

“Oh, they'll try. Maybe. If it suits their agendas. But allow us to let you in on a secret. We don't need them. We never did.

“They made us think we did. That they were stronger. Faster. Better than us. Not just your Avengers, but the police. The FBI. The Marines. Whoever is telling us that they are here to protect us. They're lying. They're here to keep us scared. To keep themselves relevant. We don't need them,” the voices repeated; the chorus almost growled out the words.

“This world has grown fat. Lazy. Complacent. You've forgotten how to survive without your heroes. But don't worry, we're going to remind you. It's time for a new age. A world beyond heroes. Beyond waiting for salvation. This is the age of true, primal survival. The age of warriors. Consider this your wake-up call.

And your invitation.”

The screen went black again and a timer appeared on the screen.

A countdown.

**30:23:59:55**


	10. Ten

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some pieces falling together. Some pieces falling apart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woof. This was NOT supposed to take three months to post but, alas. Hope that if you're still along for the ride that you enjoy this next little taste; untangling the red string around the Big Board in my mind is getting a little more difficult with each twist I throw in this story so I appreciate your patience and understanding as I take much longer than is probably necessary to post each chapter.

“Penal Code Section 1529 states that the property to be seized must be described with what?” Darcy asked, staring at the words on the notecard in her hand. She glanced up and paused, watching for some sign of life in Eddie’s features. She flipped the card over. “Correct,” she said quietly. “Reasonable particularity.”

The sounds of his respirator and heart monitor beeped in response. Darcy set her cards aside and leaned forward and rested her elbows on the edge of his hospital bed. “We can’t have a funeral for anyone,” she said quietly. “I mean, I get it—no one can get off Manhattan and everyone hates us anyway,” she shrugged. “But it still feels wrong.”

Sixteen police officers had been killed. The more information was released, the more it seemed like a miracle it hadn’t been more. Transportation was a nightmare. Bridges and tunnels closed indefinitely or nonexistent in some cases. The waterfront looked like a war zone—blast sights still smoking as crews worked had worked all through the weekend trying to clear the rubble, look for survivors. Sirens still wailing through the night. The phones at the precinct ringing off the hook with tips and accusations and more missing persons’ reports than anyone could remember filing in years.

And with every second that timer ticked down, dread sank lower over the city.

It was a nightmare. Someone had stolen the city she’d known and loved and recognized; replaced it with this chaotic hellscape where she only felt scared and vulnerable and paranoid.

They’d been briefed by PR for the department that there would be no city-wide memorial for their fallen officers. That with the state of everything—and given the very real timer on the threat issued on Friday—it would be a dangerous move to have all of the city’s police together at the same time.

It had been a rude reminder of her own helplessness, being told that something was too dangerous for the group responsible for keeping everyone safe. It felt wrong. Backwards.

“I mean, I guess they released the—” Darcy paused and took a steadying breath. “The families are allowed to do whatever they want for personal funerals but Sarge doesn’t think they’ll do anything major until we get a handle on what happened.”

She pursed her lips and couldn’t resist tapping his arm. “Which, y’know, we’d do a whole lot faster if you’d cut this shit out and come back to work.”

She nodded in the silence and swallowed hard. “Okay,” she answered herself softly and reached for her notecards again. “Oh, easy one. The DOJ has indicated that they will accept the following reason for the release of information.” She glanced up and waited for a response out of habit. Her phone started buzzing before she could flip her card. “What’s up, Sarge?” she asked as she brought it to her ear.

“You gotta get down here, Lewis,” Nowicki sounded tense and more gruff than usual. “Soon as possible. It’s about your case.”

Her gut twisted and she started shuffling her things together. “Okay,” she said without hesitation. “Yeah, I’ll grab Barnes and we’ll—”

“No,” Nowicki cut her off. “Just you.”

“Oh,” Darcy blinked in surprise. “Okay.”

He hung up without another word. Darcy got to her feet and stuffed her phone and study materials back into her bag. “Alright, Sleeping Beauty, I’m gonna go figure out what the hell that’s about. Becca should be here soon with your mom so maybe you can do us all a favor and wake up before they get here, yeah?” She stopped and curled the fingers of his hand in on themselves to make a fist she could bump hers against. “I’ll see you later.”

 

Darcy realized immediately why Nowicki had told her to come alone. She spotted the black SUVs before she got off the bus. Her heart sank at the first glimpse of a DHS windbreaker and she found herself flashing her badge twice more than usual before she was able to get to her desk.

The feds were swarming like ants, taking whatever they wanted and moving out, ignoring questions from anyone below a sergeant. Darcy frowned in confusion, dumbfounded before she caught sight of familiar photocopies and newspapers on the top of a box carried past her. “Hey!” she exclaimed with a jolt. “Hey! That’s my shit!”

The agent in question didn’t even turn around on his way to the elevator. With an unpleasant twist in her stomach and a heart that had started to race, Darcy followed the line of feds—all of whom were carrying boxes of the work she and Bucky had been doing—back down the hallway to her makeshift office.

They’d already deconstructed her bulletin board by the time she shoved her way in and was able to take a breath deep enough to get her point across.

“What the fuck are you doing?”

Nowicki and Driscoll looked up, tense and almost apologetic, from where they’d been speaking with an agent whose haircut and thick mustache were clearly in charge. “Officer Lewis,” he spoke with a thick New York accent and the dismissive tone that told her he didn’t really care what she had to say. “I thought you were on medical leave,” he said, with a glance in the direction of her superiors.

“Voluntary medical leave,” Driscoll corrected gruffly.

“I didn’t volunteer,” Darcy said with a shrug that hurt her damaged ribs. “What are you doing with my evidence?”

“You mean your evidence of a conspiracy to commit a massive terror attack on New York City?” The mustache twitched into a smile that didn’t show his teeth. “It’s my evidence now.”

She huffed out a shocked laugh. “Just like that?”

“Just like that,” he assured her. “DHS handles terrorism.”

She rolled her eyes and crossed her arms over her chest. “Yeah, you guys are doing a helluva job.”

“Lewis,” Nowicki barked his warning like a parent before he turned his attention back to the fed. “Officer Lewis has been working this investigation for the last few weeks,” he continued. “She’d have more insight that you’re going to get from just seizing her work.”

The fed shifted so Darcy could read his badge. Special Agent Bill Hutchinson. “Last thing I need is some starry-eyed rookie on this,” he spared a glance in her direction. “No offense.”

“Some taken anyway,” she assured him with a joyless smile.

He shook his head. “I’m more interested in her informant,” he said, dropping a hot weight of dread into her stomach. “I need his name, contact information.”

She opened her mouth to refuse but Driscoll cut her off. “Sure,” he said easily. “I’ve got it written down somewhere. It was uh…” Darcy watched with concern as her lieutenant touched his forehead and frowned in concentration. “Shit, what was it, Lewis? Something with a C, wasn’t it?”

“Carl?” Nowicki suggested, his eyes squinting. “Or maybe Craig?”

Driscoll snapped his fingers and his eyes flew open. “Confidential! _That’s_ it!” he shook his head with a laugh. “I knew it’d come to me eventually.”

Hutchinson’s mustache twitched again. “That’s cute,” he said as his eyes swept over the three of them, one at a time. “You NYPD are real cute.”

“We’re adorable,” Driscoll assured him. “You can have whatever you want from Lewis’ investigation, but no one in this precinct is going to release the identity of one of our CIs,” his own lips flashed a sarcastic half-smile. “Kinda the point, you know?”

Hutchinson rolled his eyes and shook his head. “I’ll find out what I need, one way or the other, Nick,” he reminded, picking up the last folder on the desk Darcy had been using.

“Then you don’t need us, do you, Bill?” he asked, unfazed by the vague threat simmering under Hutchinson’s words.

The fed huffed out another sigh and left without another word. Darcy waited until they were alone before she turned back to her commanding officers. “Thank you, sir,” she said sincerely.

But Driscoll was already shaking his head. “Don’t thank me yet. Hutch has been fucking with my investigations for the last 10 years. He’s an asshole,” he stated with a shrug, “but he’s also a bloodhound when he wants to get to the bottom of something.”

The grip of dread around her stomach didn’t relax as she nodded. “But Bar—”

“Smith,” Nowicki cut her off with a correction and a nod toward the open door.

Darcy nodded. “Smith,” she repeated. “Smith doesn’t think that our case is linked to Friday’s attack.”

Driscoll’s eyebrows lifted. “Why not?”

“He said it’s too public. Too obvious. The point of the groups he was familiar with was that they were so under-the-radar that no one even noticed they’d taken over until it was too late.” She sighed and looked in the direction Agent Hutchinson had just whisked away her evidence. “If he’s right, and DHS starts trying to connect these two things…”

“They’re gonna burn out all the time we have on that little doomsday clock,” Nowicki finished, his eyes following hers toward the bullpen where they all knew a feed of the countdown was streaming at all times.

“And still not stop whatever has been going down since last year.”

Driscoll looked between them and cleared his throat. “I think it goes without saying that Smith doesn’t come near this place until we have a handle on what’s going on with Hutch.”

She nodded. “Yes, sir.”

“Do you think you can keep making progress without—”

“Any of the work I’ve done so far?” she asked with a scoff. Driscoll shrugged apologetically. “I honestly have no idea.”

“Well,” he glanced down at his watch. “I’d say you’ve got 27 days to figure it out.”

“So, no pressure.”

“And in the meantime, while Hutch is still sniffing around, you need to be careful about what it looks like you’re working on. Understood?”

“Yes, sir.”

She was dismissed after that, planning on sitting at her desk and doing paperwork until DHS had cleared out. But when she arrived back in the bullpen, Agent Hutchinson was standing at her filing cabinet tapping the top of it impatiently. “You’re wasting your time,” she said by way of greeting. “I don’t have a record of the CI you’re looking for in there. Or anything else you want, actually. All my case files were in that office you just raided.”

“How about you unlock it and let me see for myself.”

She shrugged and fished the key from her keyring. “Suit yourself.” She popped the lock and opened the top drawer. “Two bags of mini Snickers, double-sided tape, an extra pair of pantyhose, a Tide stick and a box of tampons,” she inventoried before adding with a smirk, “which you may not have, by the way.” She dropped her voice to a loud whisper. “It’s the girly drawer and frankly, Rodriguez would kill me if I gave away her Snickers.”

She closed the drawer and locked it again, feeling a little proud of herself before she caught the thoughtful look on the agent’s face. “Look, I was a cop once,” he said, softening his voice a little. “I know it’s tempting to want to stick it to the man and try to keep me from doing my job, but you should think about how it might benefit you to actually want to help us out here.” When she didn’t respond, he continued, “The right kind of cooperation with a federal investigation could get you a shield tomorrow if you play nice.”

Darcy rolled her eyes. “What? My CI for my shield?” she shook her head. “No thanks, I’d rather earn it.”

“Come on,” he scoffed. “This isn’t like snitching to IA in exchange for a promotion. This is resume-building work on a federal task force.”

“How is giving up my CI _work_? You just said to Driscoll you don’t want my help, just my files.”

He seemed unfazed. “Cooperation counts as work in my book.”

She shrugged. “ _OR_ I could just keep my head down, do my job, and take my test in December like everyone else.”

He mirrored her shrug. “Assuming you pass.”

It was her turn to smile. “You’ve clearly never met my mother. She used to make me do a book report every time I brought home a B on my report card. I think I can handle one little detective’s exam without compromising my integrity along the way.”

“Still,” he leaned casually against her filing cabinet. “It seems like there’s a lot to distract you between now and then. I’d hate for your concentration to slip.”

“Don’t you worry about me, G-man,” she patted his arm. “I’ve got a great study-buddy. And anyway, don’t you have a bunch of stolen evidence to be going through? I wouldn’t be wasting my time harassing the local PD if it were still _my_ case.”

His thick mustache quirked into another half smile. “You think about what I said, _Officer_ Lewis.”

With another scoff she hoped didn’t betray the twisting of her stomach, Darcy moved past him and behind her desk. “Fuck this,” she said, addressing Hutchinson and the group of feds still swarming in the bullpen. She bent down with some difficulty and picked up the two cans of African Violet. “I’m on medical leave and I’ve got a nursery to paint.”

“I thought that leave was voluntary,” Hutchison reminded her as she passed him on her way out.

“Yeah, well, guess I’m volunteering after all,” she said before she reached the door.

 

***

 

“This isn’t right,” Bucky stated as deep lines of concern creased his forehead. “This is…” he shook his head. “This can’t be right.”

Darcy glanced over his shoulder. “You need the bag of C screws, that’s the B screws,” she said, pointing to the diagram he’d been trying to riddle out.

“These _are_ the C screws,” he insisted, pulling the paper closer.

“No, the C screws are like, a _tiny_ bit shorter.” She looked over the open box of disassembled changing table pieces and rummaged with the toe of her sneaker for a minute before she found what she was looking for. “Here,” she nudged them over to him. “These ones will work.”

Bucky was still frowning in concentration. “This is ridiculous,” he grumbled. “Someone who speaks twenty languages should be able to assemble a goddamn piece of furniture with instructions made entirely out of pictures.”

Despite her bad mood, Darcy had to laugh. “That’s Ikea for you,” she said and turned back to dip her roller in the tray of paint. “Thanks for helping me,” she said after a long silence had passed between them. “I’m sure Becca’ll really appreciate it.”

“What else am I going to do?” he asked, not looking up. “Stay home and knit?”

Darcy was quiet again while she rolled the paint over what had been the beige wall of Eddie and Becca’s shared office. The soft, creamy purple was like rolling spring straight onto the walls and she had to remind herself to compliment Eddie on his excellent choice of colors when he woke up. “I believe you,” she said after another minute had ticked past. When she glanced over her shoulder, he had stopped sorting hardware. “If you say Friday’s attack and our case aren’t the same guys,” she clarified. “Then I believe you. And just because we can’t keep working our angle the way we were before, it doesn’t mean I’m going to stop until we figure out what it all means and what it has to do with Jared Griffin.”

He reached for a smooth piece of particle board for the base of the table. “And what if I’m wrong? And you _should_ be working with that fed?”

“If you’re wrong, and these _are_ connected,” she shrugged, “then maybe it’s not someone you trained. And it’s not someone you could have stopped. And no matter what,” she added after another moment’s pause. “None of this is your fault.”

Bucky glanced over his shoulder and Darcy saw the sad, introspective smile tug at the corner of his lips. She turned back to the wall too quickly and hissed as a flash of pain seared up both sides of her diaphragm. With her eyes squeezed shut and her teeth ground as the pressure against her ribs slowly subsided, she didn’t see Bucky leap to his feet or notice that he’d moved until she felt him take the roller from her hand. “Sit,” he commanded. “You build. I’ll paint.”

“Deal,” she grimaced, folding her legs beneath her while she caught her breath again. “How long do bruised ribs take to heal, anyway?”

When she looked up, Bucky was shaking his head. “Longer than three days, idiot.”

She sighed with some difficulty. “Yeah, I guess that’s fair,” she muttered and reached for the Allen wrench.

Bucky was much faster at painting than he was at assembling cheap furniture and he’d nearly completed the first wall when he spoke again. “So, this Hutchinson guy—sounds a like a dick.”

“Total dick,” Darcy grumbled, carefully twisting a screw into place. “Evidence-stealing, mustache-wearing, empty-threat-making dick.” She ground her teeth together again and grabbed another screw. “And because of him and his bullshit, we’re back at square one with everything we compiled.”

There was another minute of the hollow flutter of the roller against the wall while she spun the handle of the Allen wrench clockwise.

“Not exactly square one.”  

When she looked up, Bucky had produced his phone from his pocket and held it out to her. Curious, Darcy accepted it and zoomed in on the picture he was showing her. The top left corner of their board. Wide-eyed, she swiped to the next photo and the one after that. Bucky had dozens. It looked like he’d been cataloguing their progress every day since they’d started. “It won’t get you the files and records from city hall,” he said after she’d swiped back to the beginning. “And we still lost a lot of details but—” he shrugged. “It’s something.”

But Darcy was shaking her head, her heart pounding with excitement. “No, it’s _great,_ ” she insisted. “Thank you.”

It was more than just something. And it was more than enough to give her back a tiny spark of hope.

 

***

 

Natasha’s expression, twisted in disgust, was the first thing Steve registered as he and Sam returned to the tower on Monday afternoon.

“What?” he asked and dropped his shield by the door of the conference room.

They’d been taking shifts working with search and rescue since Friday. With any real leads tied up with law enforcement, the city had politely requested earth’s mightiest heroes lend a hand with the heavy lifting instead.

He and Sam had been in what remained of the Brooklyn Battery Tunnel all morning and his back and arms were finally starting to protest the 48 hours he’d gone with only minimal sleep.

“Nothing,” Nat said quickly and returned to the laptop in front of her.

“I told you we stink,” Sam grumbled as he pushed his flight goggles to the top of his head.

Steve frowned and dropped his chin to inhale what he could of his uniform. “Do we?”

“You’re fine,” Natasha shook her head again. “It’s…probably something else.”

“It’s us,” Sam said with a sigh. “That water we were splashing around in is foul.”

“It’s not that bad,” she lied without blinking. “But it wouldn’t kill you to take a shower soon,” her eyes flicked between them. “Both of you.”

Steve rolled his eyes. “Thanks. What have you been working on while we’ve been sorting through the rubble and apparently sewer water?”

“Trying to find something useful in all of the press that’s been put out since the attack,” she muttered. “Wanda and I have been combing through the comment sections of the new stories—”

“Just don’t have enough darkness infecting your brain on any given day?” Sam asked, dropping into a chair a safe distance away.

“Mostly we’ve been flagging anyone who seems extra shady and doing some digging.”

Steve raised his eyebrows. “Anything promising?”

“That is _not_ the word I would use,” she said and sat back with a sigh. “Plenty of people are angry and no one’s got too many nice things to say about the cops or DHS and—obviously—all the MAGA idiots are blaming immigrants and saying it’s Obama’s fault.”

“Obviously,” Sam muttered with an eyeroll of his own.

“But as far as anything resembling a solid lead goes?” She shook her head. “Not much.”

“Breakthrough,” Wanda interrupted as she entered the room with a stack of files in hand. “FRIDAY was able to grab the initial report from the bomb squad on two of the blast sights.” She stopped and frowned before her eyes fell on Sam and Steve. “What is that smell?”

“Sewage,” Steve said as Sam grumbled, “Us.”

“FRIDAY, can you send us what you found?” Natasha asked, avoiding the subject.

“You don’t smell like sewage,” Wanda said, softening her expression before she slid her files in front of Natasha and tilted her head thoughtfully. “Or…not _just_ sewage.” She stretched her neck a little further and inhaled again before her nose wrinkled. “More like ammonia and coffee grounds.”

“That’s much better,” Steve commented dryly.

“Fuck it,” Sam got up. “I’m going to take a shower.”

“Hang on,” Nat held up a hand and grabbed her phone. She gave a flick of her wrist and sent the records she’d been studying onto the nearest white wall. “Before you go, both of you take a look at this.”

The four of them stood together, studying the data FRIDAY had retrieved. Steve crossed his arms over his chest and frowned. “This looks pretty standard,” he said, hoping his disappointment didn’t bleed too heavily into his words. “Nothing special.” He glanced over to exchange a look with Sam, but Sam’s head had tilted to one side in concentration. “What’s up?”

“This looks…familiar,” Sam said finally, his eyes narrowing further as he took a step closer to the wall and tapped a section of the projected report to zoom in.

“Like…military familiar?” Steve prompted, waiting for something specific to jog his own memory.

Sam shook his head. “No, like I feel like I was just looking at this.”

Natasha raised her eyebrows. “Déjà vu?”

“No…” he said, distracted by what was in front of him. “I mean…I feel like I was just looking at _this_ exact thing.” He glanced back at Nat. “Are you sure this is the right file?”

“I’m sure it’s what FRIDAY just sent me,” she responded with a slight edge to her voice.

Steve opened his mouth to remind them that they didn’t have time to be sniping at each other, but Sam cleared his throat and cut him off with a request for FRIDAY. “Can you bring up the files I was cataloguing Thursday night?”

“Of course,” the AI answered pleasantly, and the phone Sam had pulled from his pocket illuminated with another image of a scanned report. He flicked his wrist the same Natasha had and sent the image to the wall next to the original report.

“Scan for similarities?” Steve asked, noticing that the report Sam had summoned was considerably older. Scanned from yellowed paper, clearly done up on a typewriter. He swallowed hard. At the top corner of the first page was a seal and symbol all too familiar.

“I’ve counted forty-seven similarities on the first two pages,” FRIDAY reported, sinking Steve’s heart further in his chest.

“This is an old SSR file,” Wanda commented softly, sweeping the yellow page with her eyes.

“That’s correct,” FRIDAY said. “A debrief of a successful demolition of a Nazi weapons facility. November 18, 1941. According to the file, it was the SSR’s first successful use of PETN in an explosive test in the field.”

Natasha frowned. “We weren’t in the war in November of ‘41.”

“We were,” Steve corrected with an unpleasant twist of his stomach. “Just not everybody knew it yet.”

“So, if the bombers from Friday’s attack got their idea from an SSR file,” Wanda said carefully.

“Then they pulled their information from the data dump,” Sam finished with a deep sigh and ran his hand over his face.

“Which means Barnes—or whoever he and Darcy are chasing—isn’t responsible for Friday’s attack,” Natasha said, crossing her arms over her chest with finality. “I am.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...We uh, we all know who the fed is, right? Or at least, who he's supposed to look like? I don't have to say it, right?
> 
> Let me know what you think, lovers. :-*


	11. Eleven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just a lot of hard conversations. Like...like almost too many?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So here's the plan, kids: I've got this puppy all plotted out and the epilogue written. There's only a few chapters left and I no longer have to consult my Big Board with the red string to figure out what I'm doing everytime I open my word processor. SO my plan is to have this all done by the end of summer and I need YOU ALL to hold me accountable. 
> 
> And by that, I mean...enjoy the chapter and let me know what you think :-D

Eleven

 

To say things were tense at the tower that evening would be a lie. Tense would have been pleasant. Welcome, even. Tense was something to aspire to.

The silence Darcy found herself drowning in on Monday night was sharp. Oppressive. It hurt to breathe in.

She and Bucky had been summoned to an emergency meeting following Natasha’s discovery; by the time they finally navigated the mess of getting to Manhattan, Darcy expected they’d walk in in the middle of a brainstorm. She expected to be able to watch Tony’s mind working overtime, to hear Sam and Natasha working out logistics of whatever plan they’d come up with while Steve and Wanda figured out how to best make use of everyone’s skills and abilities.

What she got was silence.

Tony sitting at one end of a long, glass conference table, his arms crossed over his chest, glaring at the door when they arrived. Steve and Sam on opposite sides of the same table, trading off between trepidation and boredom. Wanda next to Steve, glancing between him and Tony, her delicate features stitched in worry.

The only one doing any work was Natasha—seated at the foot of the table, her head bent over a StarkPad, her fingers flying over the screen, data scrolling in front of her eyes. She didn’t look up when they arrived.

“What’s…going on?” Darcy asked, shrugging out of her jacket. When no one responded, she cleared her throat. “Sorry we’re late,” she continued. “Traffic’s a bitch with the whole city being recently…”

“Blown up,” Tony finished brusquely. “Yeah. Her fault, apparently,” he pointed to the opposite end of the table.

“ _Our_ fault,” Natasha said without missing a beat as she finally looked up. “We’ve all been aware of this data dump for four years, Tony. Any one of us could have taken steps to rein in the damage at any time.”

“Really?” he asked in disbelief. “You’re putting this on all of us? Who asked you to dump those files? Whose orders were you following?”

“Would you rather we all stayed in the dark?” she asked, her voice remarkably steady. “More good than bad has been done with this information since it went public, Tony. A _lot_ more.”

He rolled his eyes. “You keep telling yourself that.”

Darcy glanced between the two and narrowed her gaze. “Is this a fight we all need to be here for? Or is there something else we can do for you?”

“We need everything you and Bucky have been working on,” Steve spoke up from his side of the table. “It looks like we’re chasing the same people.”

She scrubbed at her eyes wearily. “Wish you would have said something sooner,” she groused as Bucky took a seat in the furthest corner from Tony. “All my data just got swiped by that DHS crustache. The only thing we have is the photos Bucky’s been taking of the board.”

“Better than nothing,” Sam said with a shrug of his shoulders. “And it’s better than what we’ve got.”

“Do you have them with you?” Steve asked, directing his attention back to Bucky, who nodded. “Then let’s get to work.”

 

 

They had large printouts of Bucky’s photos inside of an hour, pieced together on the wall in a recreation of the board the feds had dismantled at the precinct. Darcy had reconstructed the list of deaths and department connections that she and Bucky had assembled and stuck it next to the makeshift board.

But even though it was a comfort to see most of her work returned to her in some way, even Darcy had to admit that in the wake of the recent attack, it still didn’t feel like much to go on.

“This is everything?” Sam asked, crossing his arms over his chest as he examined the photo of Crispin McCall’s obituary.

“Everything except the contractor bids we could get from City Hall,” she said as she dropped into the chair. “And after what happened, I think they might have been the key to this whole connection.”

“So, let’s get them back,” Steve said as if it were obvious.

“What, you want to rob a federal building?” Bucky asked, incredulously.

“If that’s the only way to do it—”

“It’s not,” Bucky cut him off succinctly. “When Darcy made the initial request, they didn’t send her the originals,” he explained patiently. “Which means the feds didn’t _take_ the originals. Which means—”

“They’re still at City Hall,” Sam finished with a half-smirk.

“Great, so we rob City Hall instead,” Tony scoffed as he shoved back his chair and got to his feet. He’d been unnaturally silent for most of the last hour, his voice’s sudden appearance in the conversation jolted Darcy’s attention in his direction. “You know what? I’m tapping out now, kids. You have fun with your felonies, I’ll maintain my plausible deniability from the safety of my lab.”

“And if we need you?” Steve called after him.

“Don’t,” Tony’s response floated down the hall.

Natasha rolled her eyes and stood from her chair. “As much as I don’t want to admit it, Tony’s got a point. Are we talking about staging a heist on City Hall?” When no answer came, she clarified. “Not that I’m morally opposed or anything, I just want to make sure we know what we’re looking for. And that we’re not walking into a needle in a haystack situation.”

“At this point, I think we should focus our attention on Apollo Consulting,” Darcy said, forcing herself to focus on the task at hand instead of Tony’s outburst. “Everything we gathered before the attack was pointing to them being dirty and I’d bet dollars to doughnuts that they have something to do with this.”

“Could we access the records remotely?” Sam asked.

She shook her head. “I tried before—all city government access has been wonky since Friday. I got the same firewall as when I tried to access the precinct database from home. Everything is down to LAN access only.”

“What about just asking to see them?” Wanda asked, her head titled curiously. “We don’t have to sneak in for that—I mean,” she frowned, “would you even need a warrant for that? Aren’t they public record?”

“Technically yes,” Darcy said with a grimace. “But I would need at _least_ an approved requisition form and it’s a lot of red tape, especially for something like this that’s a direct city contract and we just don’t have time for that.”

“Not to mention, we don’t want to tip off Apollo that someone is looking into them,” Bucky added. “We don’t know if they’ve got someone inside the office.”

“Good point,” Steve muttered.

“So, we’re heisting?” Sam asked, his eyebrows raised with interest.

A knot forming in her stomach, Darcy shrugged. “I guess so?”

“Shouldn’t be too complicated,” Natasha’s shrug was much more casual. “Sneak in, copy some files, sneak back out. Easy.”

But Bucky was shaking his head. “Two weeks ago it would have been easy,” he countered. “But this city’s a disaster. DHS is all over the place, everything’s a mess and you can guarantee they’ve all cracked down on security in the last three days. It’s going to take more than fifteen minutes of planning to pull this off.”

Natasha quirked an eyebrow in his direction and met his gaze for the first time since he’d entered the room. “Fair enough,” she said evenly. “Want to take point?”

Bucky’s plan was simple and easy to follow; Darcy saw right away how his mind worked when put to a task—how easy it was for him to lay out a plan of attack and accomplish a mission. She couldn’t help but wonder how much of that was Winter Soldier and how much of that was just Bucky—the Bucky he’d been before he’d been captured.

“Darcy, since you’re the only one here who has actually been to City Hall, you’re going to have to be part of this,” he said, almost apologetically. “Make up a reason to be there and get yourself through security. After you’re in, do you know where to go to access the files we need?”

“I would literally just need access to any computer in the building,” she admitted. “I need a flash drive and about fifteen minutes to find and copy what I need.”

His eyes shot back to Natasha. “That’s where you come in.”

“Distract or neutralize?” she asked and crossed her arms over her chest.

“Distract,” he answered immediately. “Just keep whoever they’ve got at the front desk looking at you so he’s not going to be a problem for fifteen minutes while she’s copying data.”

“Can do,” she said simply. “But I think we’re going to need some tech support.”

His brow furrowed. “Why?”

Natasha leaned her hip against the edge of the table. “Paris, James. 2002.”

Darcy felt her expression twist in confusion while she watched realization dawn on Bucky’s face before he asked, “You think that’s a good idea?”

Natasha rolled her shoulders. “It is if we do it right this time. I’ll go in and ask for access to the Apollo files directly like Wanda said, they’ll tell me no because I don’t have the right forms and then I’ll leave, and they’ll think they sent me away. I’ll just be one more disgruntled citizen and they won’t have any reason to suspect that anyone was copying their files behind their backs.”

Darcy glanced between them and cleared her throat. “I…sort of see the appeal,” she said slowly, not entirely convinced. “But what’s the tech support for?”

She shrugged. “In case any communication goes out from the office to Apollo, we have someone reroute it so the call never connects or the text doesn’t send. At least while we’re there.”

“Is that something we can do?” Darcy asked, glancing between them.

There was a shared look around the table before Steve cleared his throat. “We could probably figure it out.”

“Wouldn’t be that hard,” Sam added.

She frowned in confusion. “That’s not inspiring a lot of confidence,” she admitted. “Natasha, is this actually something we _need_ for this plan? Or can we make do without it?”

The redhead considered the question for a moment, tilting her head back and forth in thought. “It’s an extra precaution,” she admitted before adding, “One I probably wouldn’t take if I was working this alone. But in the event a call or text _does_ go out, the fine folks at Apollo might say they don’t want anyone looking into them and if they’ve got a guy on the inside, they might give an order that we don’t like.”

“Like to kill us and make it look like an accident?” Darcy asked blankly.

“For instance,” she said. “And not that that’s the end of the world,” she continued casually. “But a dead body behind the counter at files and records tends to raise more questions than we need right now.”

“Not to mention, it’ll help us out with anyone else recognizing us,” Sam added. “We can be in and out before anyone has a chance to text their friends that the Falcon and Captain America’s girlfriend were just hanging out at city hall.”

“Good point,” Darcy relented and glanced around at her cohorts again. “But time’s not really on our side for figuring out how to work some random patch that can reroute calls and texts. We needed this information three months ago.”

Natasha looked from Sam to Steve to Wanda and back over to Bucky before she sighed. “Darcy, go tell Tony we need his help after all.”

“Why me?”

“Because he’s mad at everyone else in the room,” Wanda answered without skipping a beat. She smiled. “Well, not me. But this isn’t my plan.”

Darcy got back to her feet. “So Tony already has the ability to do this patch thing?” she clarified with another scan of the room. “And you were all going to try to do it on your own instead of asking for help because he’s being a baby about having to deal with a problem he didn’t anticipate?”

 “Sums it up,” Sam said with a nod.

“Okay then,” she said and turned in the direction Tony had stalked not long ago.

He was right where he said he’d be, in his lab, tinkering on what looked like a torso of an Ironman suit. He didn’t look up when Friday buzzed her in.

“Go away, please,” he called.

Darcy took a deep breath. “I need your help.”

“Not interested.”

“Then point me in the direction of someone who is,” she said keeping her tone as even as she could.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, sitting up and turning on his wheeled stool to face her. “Thieves, spies and assassins not as helpful as they used to be?”

She drew in another steadying breath. “Tony, I understand that you have a lot of reasons not to want to—”

“Oh, you understand? That’s great, Darcy.” His voice held a venom she’d never experienced as he got to his feet. “Thanks so much for understanding why I maybe don’t want to bend over backwards to help the man who murdered my parents break the law again and come out looking like the good guy in the end.”

Darcy didn’t move as he’d strode across the room to stand right in front of her. His eyes were dark with anger, his mouth set in a firm line. She set her jaw. “I do understand,” she said evenly. “But get over it.”

He stepped back in shock. “Get over it?” he repeated incredulously.

“I know that sounds harsh—”

“Get over it!” he exclaimed with a sarcastic laugh. “What a swell idea, Lewis! Why didn’t I think of that? I’ll just _get over it!_ ”

Darcy’s hand slammed down on the counter where he was about to sit down, startling the disbelief off his face for a second. “Yes, Tony. Get over it. Go to therapy, drink yourself stupid, throw a bunch of dishes…whatever you have to do. Do it and get over it. Because in case you forgot, a group of people with a very dangerous set of instructions took _your_ father’s old chemistry notes and blew up half the city a few days ago. And while you were in here having a little pity party about who does and doesn’t deserve your help, we might have found a way to take a big step in the right direction to catching the bad guys and stopping whatever they have planned before that timer hits zero. And maybe we don’t need a _lot_ of your help right now, but we need a little bit. And we’re probably going to need a lot later, so if you’re just going to keep being a bitch about having to work with people you don’t like, why don’t you just tell me now, so I know not to waste my time when the shit’s really going down.”

She let out a breath and willed herself not to apologize or try to take any of that back.  “And look, I’m not saying you don’t have the right to feel the way you’re feeling…” she added carefully, in a softer tone. “But if your grudge is more important than stopping whatever's coming,” she pointed to the suit he’d been working on, “maybe you should consider getting someone else to wear that for a while.” Another tense moment passed between them before she dropped her arms from across her chest. “Never mind,” she muttered and turned away. “We’ll figure it out on our own.”

“Lewis,” Tony’s voice stopped her just as she reached the door. “Top right drawer,” he said, pointing to the cabinet beside her when she turned around. “It gets buggy at around twenty feet so tell Romanov to keep it in her bag when she’s on distraction detail.”

Darcy opened the drawer as he instructed and found a red and gold device, the size of an old flip phone. She studied it in her palm, surprised when Tony took it and flipped it open. “It’s a basic prototype,” he continued. “Nothing special, just on and off,” he swiped his thumb over the power button on the side. “But it’ll reroute anything outgoing within the twenty-foot radius while it’s on. Should be just right for what you need.”

She looked up and narrowed her eyes. “Were you spying on us the whole time?”

“Of course not,” he scoffed. “I have a system that scans the A/V in all of my conference rooms.”

She rolled her eyes. “Big brother, Stark-style.”

“Oh, but if you’re wondering if I heard you refer to me as a baby whining about a problem I didn’t anticipate,” his lips twitched into a half-smile. “Nope. Didn’t hear a thing.”

She smiled faintly. “Thanks, Tony. I appreciate your help.”

He didn’t say anything until she was halfway down the hall, device in hand. “Hey, if you get arrested, I’m not bailing you out!” he called after her.

She rolled her eyes and didn’t turn around. “Yes, you will!”

 

***

      

In hindsight, their hyper vigilance was practically unwarranted. Darcy had underestimated how easy it would be to make up an excuse to be at city hall with Sam if she had a badge clipped to her hip.

They were in and out with the Apollo contracts inside of a half hour and back at the tower before half the city had even tried to navigate the new hell of a morning rush.

Realistically, Darcy knew she should have dug right in and started piecing her puzzle back together, but her attention was pulled elsewhere.

Bucky had made an excuse to step outside as soon as she had returned with Sam and Natasha. A look exchanged with Steve told her he desperately wanted to follow and check on his friend and was holding himself back.

“This is going to be a long day,” she stated, setting her hand on his shoulder as he opened his laptop at the conference table. “I think coffee is in order before we get started.”

Steve reached up to squeeze her hand and agreed with the wave of nods and thanks that circled the table. She started a pot of coffee in the nearest kitchen and made her way to the attached deck where a thin curl of smoke trailed from a cigarette in Bucky’s hand. His hair fell into his eyes as he looked down over the city.

Darcy cleared her throat and crossed her arms over her chest to deflect the early morning chill. “What happened in Paris in 2002?” she asked without preamble.

Bucky didn’t look at her. “A mess.”

“A mess you remember?” she prodded carefully.

“It was supposed to be recon,” he said, tapping some stray ash from the end of his cigarette. “There was a member of parliament the KGB had their eye on. I was supposed to take Natalia to Paris and observe for three days. On the third day, our mark didn’t show for his morning meeting—we needed him to be there to place a tracker in his coat. And since failure to complete a mission isn’t an option, our mark’s stomach virus meant we had to get creative.” Bucky took a long drag and exhaled as Darcy came to stand beside him and lean against the balcony railing. “So we went to his apartment just after dark—I was going to sneak in and place the tracker while Natalia distracted the security detail downstairs.”

“I can see how this has the potential to be a mess,” Darcy commented when he paused for another pull of the cigarette.

“So she says to the doorman that she’s got a delivery for our guy—something from the Polish embassy.” He shook his head. “Stupid move. Way too specific.”

“Yeah,” she nodded. “Too easy to fact check.”

“Which is exactly what happened. First a call to my mark’s room—waking him up from a dead sleep. Then when he said he wasn’t expecting anything, they called the Polish embassy to verify.”

“And then…?”

“A mess,” he repeated. “Natalia panicked and by the time the smoke cleared we had four dead bodies and a blown cover on our hands.”

“Jesus,” she commented softly. “Can’t imagine Moscow was pleased.”

Bucky closed his eyes in a long blink. “That’s putting it lightly,” he muttered. “They scrambled my memory and shoved me in my box for a while—not sure how long,” he added softly. “I still don’t know what they did to her.”

Darcy frowned. “But you didn’t lose that memory entirely,” she realized aloud. “You still…”

“I remember everything, Darcy,” he flicked his cigarette away entirely and turned to look at her. “Every minute I spent with her. Everything we did together.” His throat bobbed with a hard swallow. “Every drop of blood we spilled.”

Darcy crossed her arms tighter across her chest. “She doesn’t know that,” she said after a moment. “She doesn’t…” she stopped herself and started again. “No one knows what you remember, Bucky. And I understand why you don’t talk about it—trust me, I _really_ do—but…” she pursed her lips and continued. “But I don’t think that whatever was between you two is as over as you seem to think it is.”

“You don’t understand,” he shook his head.

“I know,” she insisted. “But I’m trying to.” She ducked her head to capture his gaze again. “C’mon, Bucky, all these months you’ve asked me to trust you. How about you try trusting me for a change?”

With his cigarette gone, his hands moved to grip the railing, flexing and curling around the wrought iron before he spoke again. “She’s the deadliest Widow to ever graduate from the Red Room. Did you know that? 41 confirmed kills. And those are just the ones on record.” Darcy swallowed hard and waited for him to continue. “There’s no part of her that isn’t a weapon—nothing she can’t use against someone if she has to. Or wants to.” He raised his eyebrows. “Do you know why?” Darcy shook her head, even though she did. “Because of me. Because that’s what I made of her.”

“Bucky, you can’t blame yourself for…”

“That’s just it, Darcy,” he promised with another tight squeeze of the railing. “I can. They messed with my mind and my memory as best they could,” he admitted. “But they didn’t…” he shook his head. “There must have been a part of me that was still… _me_ , somewhere. Because I remember the first day I met her. She was the smallest in her class. The quietest.”

“How old—”

“They’re ten when they’re brought to the Red Room,” Bucky cut her off.  “And I was supposed to train them. Turn them into soldiers.” He looked down, sadly. “But she was so…small.” He swallowed again and continued. “There was something else about her. She was bright and charming and powerful and…something else. She had a softness the other girls didn’t have. And I knew. I knew if they saw that—I knew they’d kill her for it. And I don’t know why, but I decided I couldn’t let that happen.” Another long pause and a sad, defeated smile. “Fifty…sixty years. Nothing ever mattered except the mission. And then all of a sudden…”

“She did,” Darcy finished softly.

“So, I trained her twice as hard as the other girls. I made her stronger, more efficient, more deadly than any Widow I’d trained before. I turned her into a perfect killer. Cold, ruthless, unconscionable.” His breath left him in a heavy exhale. “Every year when they’d bring her to me for her final tests, I chipped away at that sweet little girl a little more. Turned her a little more into a monster each time until I was sure she’d be safe.”  He turned away from the city and leaned against the rail, arms crossed over his chest. “And every time I look at her…that’s what I see.”

“Well that’s not what she sees when she looks at you,” Darcy said, surprising herself with her confident tone. “And despite what you want to admit, I’ve seen the way you look at her. And it doesn’t look like someone who’s looking at a monster.” She paused and softened her tone. “It couldn’t have been all bad.”

They were quiet for what felt like a long time before Bucky spoke again. “It wasn’t,” he admitted softly. “We were…” he stopped and started again. “After she became the Widow,” he clarified. “They sent us on missions together pretty frequently. Even when she was fresh out of school, there was always a question of her loyalty. So, they sent me with her to keep an eye on her—ensure quick disposal if she stepped out of line.”

Darcy resisted the urge to wince at his emotionless use of words like _disposal._

“And maybe they were right to question her loyalty,” he continued softly. “Because she made me feel like a person again. Not just an asset. The more time I spent with her, the more my memories started coming back. The more…” he paused, looking for the right word, “real, I felt.” Another sad smile played at the corner of his lips. “When we were together…” his throat bobbed again. “She said it was the only time she felt like more than the weapons they’d turned us into.”

Darcy felt her heart crack and wished more than anything she could reach out and hug him. She settled for reaching out a hand to rest on his shoulder. Her touch drew his eyes upward, out of his memory and back to her face.

“Listen,” she said, summoning her courage. “You can spend your whole life drowning in what you did in the past, but you’re not even listening to yourself right now. What you did? What you turned her into? You did to keep her safe,” she reminded. “And she _is_ safe, Bucky. She’s right in there and she’s not a killer anymore. Just like you.”

He clenched his jaw. “Doesn’t forgive what I—”

“There is no forgiving what you did all those years,” she cut him off firmly. “You could live a thousand years and not be able to make up for that. There’s no amount of atonement anyone could offer you to undo everything they made you do. But there’s still good in you and there’s still good in her and if you were brave enough to save her life all those years ago, you should be brave enough to let her talk to you. You owe her that much.” She dropped her arms and shivered. “It’s too cold out here for me,” she said finally. “Come inside and get a cup of coffee before Sam drinks it all.”

Still quiet, Bucky stood from his slouch against the railing and followed her back toward the door. “What makes you such an expert on this?” he asked as she reached for the handle.

She looked back over her shoulder and offered a half-smile. “Absolutely nothing,” she promised. “But it just occurred to me that we all might be dead in a month.” She shrugged. “So, if it doesn’t work out, it’s not like you’ll have to avoid each other for very long.”

“Jesus Christ,” Bucky shook his head as she pulled open the door and led the way back into the kitchen. “Didn’t miss the lesson on gallows humor at the academy, did you?”

“Hey,” Sam appeared in the doorway, his expression tight with concern. “You guys okay?”

“Fine,” Darcy answered quickly for them both. “How’s the encryption coming?”

“Cracked,” he said and jerked his head toward the conference room. “You need to see this.”

 ***

Driscoll and Nowicki exchanged worried glances as they looked up from the papers Darcy spread across her sergeant’s desk. “Every single one?” Driscoll asked, lifting his glasses to peer closely at the closest contractor bid.

“Every single one,” Darcy repeated. “Apollo Consulting had bid on repair or maintenance work at every _single_ blast sight in the last eight months. _And_ ,” she reached for her phone and zoomed in on the photo of one of the approved city planning projects. “The financial board for city planning? Where Crispin McCall used to sit? They approved a _massive_ transportation maintenance staffing increase with approval for at least fifty new hires on projects all around the city.”

Nowicki didn’t look convinced. “Could be a coincidence.”

“They approved it seven days after McCall’s death,” she said fervently. “That’s a big coincidence. Between that and the construction bids? Come on, guys. We don’t have time to play dumb.”

“How come no one else has put this together?” Driscoll asked, crossing his arms over his broad chest.

“Because Apollo’s bids are buried with all the other city planning stuff. This is what I was talking about before—they created this tornado of paperwork. No one is looking at them because it’s just a drop in the ocean of shit at city planning that no one ever pays attention to.”

They exchanged glances again. “I think you should sit on this, Lewis,” Driscoll said carefully after another moment of tense silence.”

“What?” she demanded. “No, there’s no time for that. What are you talking about? We need a warrant—we need to go raid Apollo Consulting and get more to build the case on.”

“It’s not our case,” Nowicki reminded firmly. “In case you forgot.”

She sighed. “Then…I don’t know, take this to DHS and tell them to investigate.”

“We’re technically not supposed to be working this at all,” Driscoll said tiredly. “I need you to sit on this until I figure out how to wrestle the case back from Hutch because my source tells me he’s already chasing the wrong lead.”

Darcy ground her teeth together. “We _really_ don’t have time for a dick-swinging competition between you and the feds,” she blurted out before she coughed. “Sir.”

The corner of Nowicki’s lips twitched into a smile before he could smother it. “Lewis,” he warned lightly. “Give us a couple days.”

She let out a carefully measured exhale. “And…in the meantime?”

“Do what you’ve been doing,” Driscoll said as he shuffled the copies of the bids into a pile and stuffed them back in the envelope Darcy had brought. “Seems like you’re on the right track. I’ll tap you in as soon as I can.” He leveled his gaze at her. “You have my word.”

Dismissed back to the bullpen, Darcy dropped into her chair with a heavy sigh. She instinctively looked across to Eddie’s empty chair and was struck by his absence like a blow to the gut. She swallowed hard and reached across the workspace to the framed photo on his side. A shot from the Fourth of July, taken in the Kimballs' backyard. If she was remembering correctly, Steve had taken the photo of Eddie, one arm wrapped around Becca, the other clapped across Shawn’s chest as the boy leaned against his legs. Shawn and Becca each held a glittering sparkler in hand and just before Steve had snapped the shutter, Eddie had turned to press a kiss to Becca’s temple.

She felt the now familiar lump rise in her throat as she traced a finger over her best friend’s profile. Setting the photo down, she turned back to her desktop and her hands flew instinctively over the keys to bring up the timer.

They’d already lost five days.

Darcy logged off her computer and reached for the phone she shared with Eddie. She flipped through the departmental rolodex of important numbers and extensions. With a quick glance to ensure that both of her COs were still in Driscoll’s office with the door closed, she found the number she was looking for and dialed before she could change her mind.

“Department of Homeland Security, New York office.” The voice on the other end of the phone was pleasant, female, and spoke with a hint of an accent Darcy couldn’t place.

She paused, her voice stuck in her throat.

“Hello? Can I help you?” The woman asked, sounding on the edge of impatient.

“Yes,” she choked out and forced herself to keep talking. “I have an anonymous tip for Agent Bill Hutchinson.”  

 


	12. Twelve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some bad things, some good things, some confusing things.

 

Driscoll’s door flew open so hard it banged against the opposite wall. The heads of every officer in the bullpen snapped up in unison like a pack of meerkats. “Lewis!” he barked out the name of the only officer who had tried to duck unsuccessfully behind her monitor. “Get your insubordinate ass in here!”

Darcy winced and got guiltily to her feet. She’d been hoping to sneak out before her blatant disregard for her boss’ order came back to bite her. It was already after six, technically her shift had ended an hour ago. Nowicki was waiting at the door to Driscoll’s office, his arms crossed over his chest and his mouth set in a firm line of disappointment. He closed the door behind them after ushering Darcy past himself.

She pursed her lips and cast her eyes downward as she stepped up to the desk. “Sir?”

“The fuck did I say, Lewis?”  he demanded. “What did I _specifically_ tell you _not_ to do?”

She sighed and steadied herself. “Sir, I know what you said. But there’s no time for all of these office politics when there’s—”

“I asked you for a few days,” he reminded tightly. “What’d you wait? Thirty-five seconds before you handed off unverified, unsubstantiated intel— _sensitive intel—_ to the bluntest instrument at DHS? You know what he did with that information, Lewis?”

She grimaced. “I’m sure you’re going to tell me,” she said, trying not to sound too flippant.

“He sent a team to Apollo Consulting.” Driscoll paused and raised his thick eyebrows. “You know what they found?”

“I do not.”

“Not one goddamn thing.”

Darcy felt her heart sink. “Oh.”

“Yeah,” Driscoll scoffed. “ _Oh._ If you’d waited like I asked you to, we could have dug in a little more and locked this shit up before they did a raid. Now,” he threw up his hands. “Who knows. If there was any way to tie them to the attacks, it’s probably long gone by now since you gave Hutch just enough to blow the whole fucking operation.”

She ran her hands over her face and sighed again. “I’m sorry, sir,” she said genuinely. “I just didn’t want to waste any more—”

“I don’t give a shit what you wanted or didn’t want. I wanted an officer on my squad who would _actually_ listen to me, so I guess we’re both just going to have to live in disappointment.”

Darcy swallowed back the sting of his words and took a breath. “Okay, but just because an initial search turned up—”

Driscoll cut her off with a raised hand. “Enough. We’re done here.”

She blinked. “Sir—”

“I’m serious Lewis,” he said firmly. “I need you downstairs on the tip line until further notice.”

“ _What_?” she demanded, her voice pitched an octave higher than the she would have liked.

Her CO shrugged casually. “They’re short-staffed.” His eyes narrowed. “Go,” he said, flicking his gaze toward the door. “Prove you can follow even the most basic orders and I’ll consider not making this your final warning.”

Her shoulders dropped but she raised her chin. It could have been worse, she told herself. It could have been much worse. “Yes, sir.”

Nowicki followed her out and grabbed her elbow as she reached her desk. “Lewis, hang on a second.”

Her breath left her in a third, defeated sigh. “I’m sorry, Sarge,” she said honestly. “I just—”

“He’s testing you,” Nowicki cut her off. “And he’s not kidding about the final warning, okay?”

Darcy read his wary expression and nodded slowly. “Okay.”

“So, _please,_ ” he said carefully, “just do as you’re asked for a while. I don’t want to lose a good cop who could be a great detective because Driscoll doesn’t think she can take direction.”

He gave her shoulder a pat before he turned back to his desk. Darcy scrubbed at her eyes as she sent Steve a text, letting him know she wouldn’t be home until much later. Her new phone was lighter but took up more space in her hand. Her fingers had to stretch further to reach the keys on the screen and every time she looked at it, she found herself missing her old, shattered phone.

And her life that had shattered at the same time.

The phone bank was staffed with volunteers and uniform, detectives pulling extra shifts, retirees and members of the admin team. Darcy was pointed to an empty corner by the volunteer coordinator and given a brief rundown of how, when and where to funnel calls and a quick refresher of the reporting system before being left on her own for the rest of the night.

The calls weren’t too bad at first. She transferred some to different departments, two to translators when her rudimentary Spanish proved unhelpful, and spent the better part of the night using her most steady, calming voice and filing what felt like far too many reports of distrustful neighbors and groups of teenagers hanging around in suspicious clumps.

It was a long, boring night. But it could have been worse, she reminded herself with each call that came in.

Her eyes were starting to burn by the time eleven-thirty rolled around. The night shift of volunteers had started trickling in and with a quick glance at her watch, Darcy decided she had time for maybe one or two more calls before she felt good about calling it a night. She rubbed what remained of her mascara into the already dark circles beneath her eyes and picked up her receiver again as she pressed the button next to the first blinking red light.

“NYPD Tip Line,” she said, hoping she didn’t sound too tired.

Or worse—robotic.

“Hello?” The voice at the other end was the soft and uncertain wobble of a young woman with a sob in her throat. “I need to…” she sniffled. “I have to report a missing person?”

Darcy took a deep breath. “Of course,” she said, softening her own tone. “Give me just a minute and I can send you to—”

“No, please,” the woman cut her off. “Please don’t transfer me. I’ve been…” she paused for another breath. “I’ve been trying to do this all day and it feels like I just keep getting bounced around. I’d come down in person but I…” Another hitched inhale. “I have my little brother with me and I can’t just leave—the buses aren’t running and there’s all this…”

“Okay,” Darcy interrupted with a sharp twist of dread in her chest. “It’s okay. I can help you.” She woke up her computer and logged in, quickly navigating to the missing persons filing screen and bringing up a new input screen. “What’s your name?”

“Thandi.” A sniffle. “Thandi Bryant.”

“Okay, Thandi,” Darcy tried to keep a smile in her voice. “I’m Darcy, it’s nice to meet you.” She paused and entered Thandi’s name into the computer. “So who are we looking for?”

“It’s my sister—Kalila.”

“Does Kalila have the same last name?”

“No—it’s Kalila Greene. She’s my…um. She’s my half-sister.”

“Sure,” Darcy said. “How old is she?”

“She’s…” Thandi paused and Darcy heard her swallow back a sob. “She’s fourteen. She hasn’t… She said she was only going to the store but she didn’t come home last night and when I tried to tell the cops last night they said I had to wait—”

“Hey, it’s okay,” Darcy felt a lump rise in her throat as the other woman’s voice started creeping toward panic again. “It’s okay, Thandi.” She blinked the dryness out of her eyes and focused on the screen in front of her. “Can you give me your address and the address of the store she was going to?”

“Sure,” Thandi took a breath. “Ours is 306 Hudson Ave. Apartment 3. And…um.” She paused. “Shit, I don’t know what the address for the store is. Hang on, let me. Uh. Let me look it up—” Suddenly, there was another voice in the background, a muffled inquisition. Thandi turned away from the phone. “You’re supposed to be in bed,” she said softly before she paused. “I don’t know,” her second answer was flat. “Mom’ll be home when she’s home. You know that. Go back to sleep, I have to do this.” Another pause and her tone softened again. “I’ll be in in a second, okay?”

Darcy waited until Thandi returned her attention to the phone before she cleared her throat again. “Thandi, how old are you?” she asked delicately.

“Sixteen,” came a fast, defensive answer.

“And you’re looking after both of your siblings?”

“My mom’s coming back,” Thandi said quickly. “I just…I need Kalila to be here when she does. So, can you just…” Her voice trailed off and the sob she’d been choking back overwhelmed her.

Darcy felt her own eyes well as she swallowed hard. “Don’t cry, sweetheart,” she said softly.  “We’re going to help you, okay?”

But even as the words left her lips Darcy wasn’t sure if that was true. Or even possible. She had been so caught up with her case and the countdown and all of the mess upstairs, she had forgotten that the rest of the city hadn’t stopped when the bombs had gone off.

People were still mugging each other. Bodies were still turning up in the park to be discovered by early morning joggers.

And in the case of Kalila Greene, little girls were still going missing in their own neighborhood.

By the time Thandi hung up Darcy had a detailed description, a narrow window of time and space where Kalila could have gone missing, and the promise that she’d personally make sure the right officers got a hold of the information.

And then Darcy waited for her relief to show up, excused herself to the nearest bathroom, and locked the door behind her.

She sank to the ground and let her head fall into her hands. Her tears fell too fast to catch them.

 

***

 

It had been five days since they’d discovered the link between the blast sights and Apollo Consulting. Three days since he’d walked past the bathroom and heard Darcy’s muffled sobs over the rush of a midnight shower.

He and Steve had spent most of that time at the tower, sorting through city files and his own research, trying desperately to draw a straight line that would indicate a next move.

A suspect.

Anything.

Darcy had spent most of her week at the precinct, leaving before dawn and trudging home well after dark. Steve hadn’t said anything, but Bucky was certain that Darcy’s workaholic tendencies and non-existent sleep schedule were at least partially responsible for the deeper lines wearing into his friend’s forehead.

She’d left just as he was getting up that morning. He heard her press a goodbye to Steve’s lips with a kiss as he handed her a travel mug of coffee. He and Steve had eaten breakfast and withdrew to different corners of the living room, a laptop a piece and a Benny Goodman station playing on Pandora.

Bucky didn’t want to admit it, but he was grateful for Sam’s suggestion that they all try working from home for a day. Things looked a little clearer from the comfort of Steve and Darcy’s living room. Without the discomfort of sharing space with Tony.

Or Natasha.

Natasha, whose eyes kept finding his for brief snatches of time across the table. Whose smell of citrus shampoo he couldn’t quite erase from his memory. Who had slinked right back to the front of his consciousness once again without him even realizing it.

Steve’s sudden movement from the armchair startled his attention back to the apartment and the task at hand. He watched Steve get to his feet and stretch his arms over his head. “I’m going to check in with Sam,” he said as he reached for his pocket before he stopped himself. “You need anything while I’m up?

Bucky shook his head and closed his laptop as Steve retreated from the living room. He set it aside and was just about to decide whether he needed a drink from the kitchen, there was a knock at the door.

Ignoring his first instinct—to arm himself and assess the threat behind the door—Bucky stood and checked the peephole. He couldn’t help but be surprised as he pulled back and untwisted the deadbolt, opening the door to find Becca leaning against the doorframe, trying to catch her breath.

She straightened up, looking equally surprised to see him. Her expression relaxed after a moment and she offered him a thin, tired smile and a gesture to the stairs behind her. “Those stairs weren’t quite so difficult three months ago,” she joked as her breath returned to her.

Bucky felt himself smile back. He liked Becca, for what he knew of her. Darcy had told him she was a fourth-grade teacher and that she and Eddie had been a couple since they were seven years old. “Come in,” he offered as he stepped to one side and held the door open.

“Thanks,” she said and hitched her large satchel up onto her shoulder. Bucky closed the door behind them and helped her out of her jacket. Her movements were slow, and everything seemed impeded by the giant swell of her belly that protruded like a beach ball under her long-sleeve t-shirt. She let out a deep sigh and pressed a hand to her lower back. “Is Darcy here?”

Bucky frowned as he watched her expression twist in a brief grimace. “Uh, no,” he said, shaking his head. “She’s down at the precinct.” He watched her wince again and move her hand to her side. “Are you alright?”

“Shit,” Becca muttered before she looked up. “Oh, uh—yeah. I’m fine,” she said unconvincingly. “I was just…” she took in his concerned look and managed a smile. “This little girl’s just giving me a hard time today,” she explained and shook her head ruefully. “Her brother was the same way.”

Bucky glanced from the kitchen to the living room and frowned. “Here,” he motioned to the nearest chair at the kitchen table. “Why don’t you sit down,” he suggested, grateful when she followed his lead and accepted the chair he pulled out for her.

She smiled as she sat down. “Thank you.”

He moved to the cabinet and then the refrigerator to get her a glass of water. “Is everything okay?” he heard himself ask before he could wonder if that was the kind of thing he should be asking her. “I mean—” he coughed.  “Since Darcy isn’t here,” he added. “Is there something you needed help with?”

“Oh,” Becca’s momentary look of confusion faded with a shake of her head. “No, I was looking through some insurance crap in Eddie’s work stuff and I found a couple things I thought might help the case.” She shrugged. “I should have called first, but I was in the neighborhood so.” She bounced her shoulders again before she accepted the glass of water and took a grateful sip. “How have you been?”

Bucky blinked in surprise. “I’ve been…” he paused, trying to remember the last time someone asked him that. Not like Steve, who was so desperate for him to be the way he used to be. Or Darcy, who still regarded him with the slightest edge of caution when she thought he wasn’t looking. “Okay, I guess,” he answered honestly. “Given the circumstances.”

Becca smiled into her glass and nodded. “Good,” she said, sounding genuine. “I meant to thank you,” she added after a minute. “For helping Darcy paint the nursery. It looks beautiful.”

Bucky almost felt like he wanted to blush under her simple compliment. “It probably would’ve looked better if Steve could’ve helped,” he said, waving her words away. “He’s the artist.”

But Becca shook her head. “It’s perfect how it is,” she insisted. “The polka dots look just like I wanted. Thank you,” she said again.

He smiled back briefly. “Anytime.”

Becca’s face twisted suddenly, and she gripped the edge of the table. Her jaw clenched into a tight square and her eyes squeezed shut. “Come on, baby girl,” she grimaced softly through her teeth. “Give me a break.”

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Bucky asked, a coil of concern twisting deep in his stomach.

She nodded, jaw still locked tight. “It’s just the last day or so,” she admitted. “My back keeps seizing up.”

“Is that…normal?”

She nodded and took in a deep breath through her nose. “It only lasts a few minutes,” she said, trying to roll her shoulders. “My mom thinks it might be a potassium deficiency.”

“Would it help to sit on the couch?” he asked, nervously. “Or put your feet up?”

She arched her back, still uncomfortable, but managed a smile. “I’m okay,” she assured him. “I’m on my way to my doctor’s appointment anyway.”

“You didn’t walk here, did you?”

It was her turn to wave his words away. “No, no,” she shook her head. “Of course not. My car’s right outside.” She scooched herself to the edge of the chair and gripped the table again, reaching out her other hand for assistance in getting up.

“Are you sure you should be driving?” Bucky asked before he could stop himself. He tentatively held out his right hand for her to use to leverage herself up, surprised by the strength of her grip.

“Yeah, it’s not that—” Becca cut herself off with a sharp gasp and sat back down. She leaned herself forward, letting her chest and belly pitch toward the floor between her knees. Still holding his hand, she inhaled deeply. “On second thought, are you doing anything right now?”

His mind flipped back to the hours of unsuccessful searching he’d been doing, the mind-numbing scanning of all the files Darcy had copied from city hall. “No,” he decided, hesitantly. “I can give you a ride—where’s your doctor?”

“I don’t think we should go to the doctor’s,” she said, her voice smaller than he was used to.

He frowned in confusion. “What? Why not?”

Becca glanced up, fear and embarrassment mingling in her expression. “Because my water just broke and I need to go to the hospital.”

Bucky felt the blood drain from his face and all of his programming began to take over. This was a bad situation, it told him. One he had no business being a part of. “Oh.” He didn’t have to be heartless, the cold, emotionless voice reminded. He could call an ambulance, maybe. Call for Steve. But he had no place in this moment.

He should leave.

His pulse quickened without his permission and he took half a step backward before Becca’s grip tightened and her eyes went wide.

“Please don’t go.”

Something inside his brain shifted and he was struck with a memory that should have been erased decades ago. A memory of a young, unmarried woman knocking on Sarah Rogers’ door in the middle of the night, tears streaming down her face as she braced herself on the doorframe with one hand and held her swollen belly with the other. He remembered how Sarah hadn’t asked anything of that woman, only brought her inside without a word and calmly told him and Steve what she needed to get them all through the night. And how she hadn’t left that girl’s side until there was a red-faced, screaming baby boy in her arms after dawn.

A baby boy, if he remembered correctly, that she had named Roger.

Becca pulled him back with another squeeze of his hand. “Please? Don’t make me go by myself.”

“No, no, sweetheart,” he said, letting himself remember Sarah’s steady voice. Her kindness. “I won’t,” he promised. “I was just going to get Steve.”

Her head snapped up again. “Steve’s here?”

“Yeah,” Bucky nodded. “He’s just down the hall.”

“Oh, thank God,” she sighed, voicing his own relief at that realization.

“Steve?” he called, bending down to be at eye-level with Becca. “Steve, get out here!”

“What?” Steve’s voice preceded his appearance in the kitchen doorway. He stopped short at the sight of Becca, who’d managed to pull herself back upright. “Hey,” he offered a brief smile. “What’s going…” Steve’s eyes swept over the room: Becca’s hand wrapped firmly around Bucky’s, her strained expression, the small puddle of water between her shoes. “Jesus, Mary and Joseph,” he muttered.

“Pretty much, yeah,” Becca grimaced, looking embarrassed again. “I really planned to do this elsewhere,” she insisted, light-heartedly. “And preferably with someone else around,” she frowned and glanced between the two of them. “No offense.”

Bucky smiled gently. “None taken,” he assured her.

“Isn’t this…” he gaped. “I mean, aren’t you early? I thought you weren’t due until—”

“It’s like, two weeks early,” she cut him off abruptly.

“Isn’t that…” he frowned. “Isn’t that bad?”

“It’s not terrible,” she informed them both and glanced at the water again. “And it doesn’t really matter now,” she reminded. “Since she’s setting her own schedule.”

“Right. We’ve gotta—” Steve glanced around, quickly assembling a plan. “You’ve gotta get to the hospital.”

“Mmhmm,” she nodded and inhaled deeply. “Kinda trying not to panic, though, so do you think you could drive?”

He blinked and shook his head, clearly snapping himself into action. “Of course,” he assured her. “Is your car out front?”

She nodded again and pointed toward the living room. “Keys are in my coat pocket.” Her grip on Bucky’s hand relaxed, but she didn’t pull away completely. “It’s okay,” she said, sounding less tense. “I think I’m okay for a little bit.”

He helped her gingerly to her feet and locked the door behind them while Steve raced ahead to start the car. Becca moved slowly, cautiously, and nothing like the way women in labor were depicted in movies or on television. It took almost five minutes for them to get down the stairs.

She surprised him by climbing with some difficulty into the backseat of her SUV. “You don’t have to sit with me,” she insisted when he clambered in behind her.

Bucky felt himself smile again despite the weight of panic sitting hot in the back of his throat. He closed the door behind him and offered Becca his left hand. “In case you need to squeeze,” he said, grateful when she smiled back.

“Not gonna break that one, am I?”

“You’re welcome to try.”

“She buckled?” Steve asked from driver’s seat, flicking his eyes to the rearview mirror.

Bucky reached over and clicked Becca’s seatbelt into place. “She’s not going anywhere,” he said, sounding much more confident that he felt. “Just drive.” He paused and cleared his throat. “But not like you usually do.”

Steve frowned. “What do you mean by that?”

He glared. “You know damn well what I mean, punk. Get us there in one piece.”

“Where are we going, Bec?” Steve asked, pointedly ignoring Bucky’s implication.

“Mount Sinai,” she said quickly before her fingers tightened around his again and she squeezed her eyes shut. “And could you get me my phone?”

Steve dug blindly in the purse on the passenger seat before he handed the whole thing back to her, not taking his eyes off the road.

Becca shifted so she could brace her foot against the locked door, almost leaning her full weight against his chest. He could feel the muscles in her back seizing and contracting while she gritted her teeth and rummaged with one hand through her bag. When she retrieved her quarry, she glanced back at him and offered an apologetic smile. “Is this okay?” she asked, of their position.

It was one of the least comfortable car rides of his life. The hard plastic of the door wedged in between his shoulders, Becca had pinned him into the corner with no place to stretch his legs and he was fairly certain he’d sat on one of Shawn’s action figures if the sharp pain in his ass was any hint. He smiled anyway. “Are _you_ okay?”

She managed a shrug. “All things considered.”

“Then it’s fine,” he said, and gave her hand a squeeze.

Becca was nothing if not efficient with their time. She made four phone calls while Steve raced them across town. Her doctor, her mother, Eddie’s mother, and Darcy, all of whom promised to get to Mount Sinai as soon as possible. Her contractions were a few minutes apart, but getting harder to joke her way through by the time they arrived in the emergency bay of the hospital.

Bucky almost refused to believe it had only taken thirty-five minutes.

With each grip of Becca’s hand and each groan of pain, Bucky felt his own heart leap into his chest. He let her push against him and listened to her grind her urge to wail through her teeth, fighting his urge to bolt and leave this for someone more qualified.

Or at the very least, someone more stable.

But after what felt like days in the car, Steve managed to nab a parking spot close to the doors. He raced inside and returned with a pair of women in scrubs, one pushing a wheelchair. Becca sank back against him with relief at the sight of the woman who opened the backdoor with a smile. “We havin’ a baby today, Bec?” she asked, reaching out her hands.

Bucky had to assume that was her doctor the way they began trading numbers and symptoms as they got Becca situated in the wheelchair. He and Steve slammed the car doors and trailed behind them. There was a pair of women waiting for Becca in the lobby— _Mothers,_ he decided right away by the way they reached for her and immediately started soothing any panic she had started projecting.

He wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting upon arrival at the hospital, but there was no stopping that wheelchair once they were inside. The small team of women circled Becca and whisked her away without so much as a glance back, leaving him and Steve breathless and alone in the waiting room.

They collapsed together on the nearest set of chairs.

Bucky looked upward and let his head fall back as all the adrenaline left him in a _whoosh_. He shoved back his hair. “ _That_ was so _fucking_ scary,” he admitted after a long moment of silence.

“Oh my God,” Steve agreed from his spot beside him. He’d leaned forward, head in his hands, elbows on his knees. “I think that’s the scariest thing that’s ever happened to me.”

“Holy shit,” Bucky continued, the words falling out of his mouth as he felt his heart rate start to return to normal. “I never want to do that again. Steve, never make me do that again.”

Steve stared at him. “You think _I_ want to do that again? I would _literally_ rather jump out of a plane than go through this kind of stress again.”

They sat together, breathing heavily and letting the reality of what had just happened hit them at the same time.

It was another few long minutes of decompression before Bucky felt a smirk curl the corner of his lips. There was something sitting in his chest, wanting desperately to be let out. Something he hadn’t felt in a long, long time. “I can’t believe you told her it was bad that she was in labor early.”

Steve glanced over and offered a guilty grin. “Yeah,” he frowned. “That probably didn’t help.”

Before he could stop it, Bucky let out a snort of laughter. He felt his face split with a full smile that had been sleeping for too long. He’d forgotten that his laugh had always been more of a bark. Too loud for some, but not for Steve. Steve could never help but join in—no matter the joke.

This time was no exception.

 

***

 

The afternoon light had started turning pink and orange by the time Becca’s mother appeared in the doorway of the maternity ward’s waiting room.

“I have a granddaughter,” she said proudly, her luminous brown eyes sparkling with happy tears.

Steve got to his feet and offered her a hug of congratulations. She accepted and pulled back, holding him at arm’s length. “Steve, honey, I rode here with Janet, do you think you could pick up Shawn from school?” she smiled again. “I know he’s going to want to meet his sister as soon as possible.”

“Of course,” Steve said without hesitation. He turned back, and Bucky was sure he was going to suggest he come too, but Becca’s mother interrupted the question before he could ask it.

“Oh, Becca wanted to talk to you, honey,” she said, addressing him directly.

He blinked in surprise. “Me?”

The older woman looked around the waiting room. “Unless you see another dark-haired, beefy white boy with a metal arm around here.”

Steve grinned back at him as he grabbed Becca’s keys from his chair. “That’s a pretty specific order,” he commented and gave his shoulder a swat. “Better see what she wants, Buck.”

Becca’s room was at the end of a long hall, small and a little cramped with a window that offered a view of a brick wall. She looked tired, and like she’d been crying, but when she glanced from him to the bundle of blankets in her arms, she almost glowed with a happiness Bucky couldn’t fathom.

“Hey,” he said from his place in the doorway.

She looked up again and smiled. “Hey,” she said softly, her voice hoarse. “Come in,” she beckoned him with her head. “I want you to meet her.”

Bucky swallowed down his urge to back away and took a few tentative steps into the room. “Is she…” he cleared his throat and dropped the volume of his voice to match hers. “You’re both okay?”

“Mmhmm,” Becca nodded and looked at the chair beside her bed. “She’s a little smaller than Shawn was but otherwise,” she dropped her lips to press a kiss to the baby’s fuzzy brown head. “Practically perfect in every way.”

Bucky smiled and sat down. “I’m glad.”

“Do you want to hold her?”

His eyes widened in surprise. “Oh, I don’t know how to—”

But Becca was already shuffling closer and before he realized it she had deposited her daughter into arms and was adjusting his elbow to better cradle her head. “There,” she said with a nod at her work. “Now you do.”

Bucky looked down and felt the breath leave his lungs. He’d held lives in his hands before. Too many to count. His hands had assembled thousands of weapons, and held volatile cores of chemical weapons, but nothing so delicate as this.

The baby in his arms had a wide button nose and pouty, heart-shaped lips. Her eyes were closed, and she had turned her head away from the overhead light. It seemed impossible that anything could be so small.

“Pretty good, huh?” Becca’s question pulled him from his reverie.

“She’s perfect,” he said.

“Yeah,” Becca leaned back on her pillows. “She is, isn’t she?”

When he looked up again, Becca had pulled her bottom lip between her teeth and appeared to hover on the edge of nervousness. He frowned. “Something wrong?”

“No,” she said quickly. “No, it’s just…” she glanced down and looked embarrassed. “She doesn’t have a name yet.” He waited while she twisted her lips back and forth, weighing something before she continued. “And, I mean, you don’t have to say yes, but I was…” she paused and fidgeted.  “Look, the thing is, I don’t know what I would have done if you hadn’t been there to hold my hand today. And I was wondering if maybe there was someone…someone I could name her after. For you.”

“Oh, you don’t have to do that,” he said hurriedly, as an unfamiliar urge to blush crept up the back of his neck. “I didn’t…I mean, I didn’t really do anything.”

“You did, though,” she insisted. “You kept me calm and you…” she faltered, and her voice hitched in her throat. “Just, please,” she said with a little cough. “I don’t know how else I could say thank you.” She blinked back the tears that had sparkled her eyes and coughed again. “I know Darcy said you had a sister,” she began, delicately. “What was her name?”

Heart hammering somewhere high in his throat, Bucky smiled. “Becca.”

She laughed and swiped at her eyes. “Well, that’s not going to work.”

He looked down as the baby squirmed at the sound of her mother’s laughter. “My mother’s name was Winifred.”

This time, when he glanced up, Becca’s eyes had grown glassy again and she lifted her eyebrows wistfully. “Winnie?” she suggested, sounding hopeful. “I love that.”

“Winnie Kimball,” Bucky said, trying the name out. He smiled. “Sounds good to me.”

Becca grinned. “Me too.”

He watched the newly named Winnie snuggle her face toward him in her blankets and couldn’t help but think that Winifred Barnes _and_ Sarah Rogers would have been proud of all of them that day.

 

***

 

Darcy’s hands were full of cards and flowers from the precinct when she finally breezed into Becca’s room, twenty minutes before the end of visiting hours. “I’m so sorry I couldn’t get here earlier,” she said, dropping the gifts at the foot of the bed and rushing over to fold her arms around her friend.

“Don’t worry about it,” Becca assured her with a tired smile. “I didn’t expect you to drop everything when I called.”

Darcy’s eyes darted to the bassinet beside the bed and raised her eyebrows. “Is there a baby in there?”

Becca nodded, almost giddy and motioned for Darcy to see for herself.

Not waiting for another invitation, Darcy scurried around the hospital bed and peered at the bundle of pink and blue striped blankets. “Oh, Bec,” she whispered. “You did so good.”

Becca grinned. “Pick her up,” she insisted. “Say hello.”

Darcy reached in and gently scooped up the baby. She sat down on the edge of the bed and held her out on her lap, cradling the baby’s soft head in her hands. “Hey there, beautiful girl,” she whispered. “I’m your Aunt Darcy.”

“That’s Winifred India Kimball,” Becca said with pride.

Darcy swallowed the lump that had risen swiftly in her throat. “That is a perfect name,” she said softly. “Eddie’s gonna love it.”

“Yeah,” Becca nodded. “I think so too.”

Darcy leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to the tiny girl’s forehead. “I tell you what, Winnie,” she said, keeping her voice low. “You and I are going to have _so much_ fun and drive your daddy _crazy_.”

The sound of Becca’s snort of laughter startled Winnie from her light sleep and she stirred with a whine that broke Darcy’s heart. “Oh, you’re okay,” Becca insisted as Darcy handed her back. She reached up and untied her hospital gown and let Winnie latch on to her breast. She shifted uncomfortably and grimaced. “My God, she’s a barracuda,” she muttered with a shake of her head.

It was Darcy’s turn to laugh as she stood and gathered the cards and flowers she’d brought in. “From everyone down at the station,” she said needlessly. “I made them all promise to stay away until you were ready for visitors.”

“You’re a saint,” Becca said gratefully. “But you can tell them all that we should be home the day after tomorrow if they want to stop by with meals that I don’t have to cook.”

Darcy smiled. “Will do.”

They sat in a comfortable quiet while Winnie filled her belly and the room with soft whines and groans against her mother’s skin. “So,” Becca finally broke the silence with a nod to the baby at her chest. “When are you and Steve going to have one of these?”

Darcy rolled her eyes. “We recently adopted a hundred-year-old ex-assassin, didn’t you hear? It’s going pretty well. I think we might be ready for a cat one of these days.”

Becca giggled and shook her head. “Okay, not pushing,” she promised. “Just saying. You’d be a natural.”

Her smile this time was thin, a little sadder. “Thanks,” she said quietly. “But the timing has to be right,” she admitted aloud. “And I’ve got some bad guys to catch before I can think about when that might be.”

Becca’s attention snapped up suddenly. “Jesus,” she blurted. “I can’t believe I almost forgot!”

Darcy frowned. “Forgot what?”

“Why I was at your apartment in the first place today,” she pointed to the pile of her things in the corner of the room. “I was going through Eddie’s computer looking for something totally different and I found all of this stuff he’d been working on the night before…”

Darcy was on her feet before Becca had to finish that sentence. She grabbed the heavy shoulder bag from the corner and brought it back to the bed. Becca reached out and upended the bag before Darcy could ask if that was okay. A thick folder of printed pages and yellow legal pads full of Eddie’s chicken scratch slipped out amid the rest of the chaos. “What is all this?” Darcy asked aloud as she flipped it open.

“I’m hoping it means more to you than it does to me,” Becca admitted. “But it seemed important.”

Darcy’s eyes scanned the printouts and the notes Eddie had scribbled in the blank spaces. The circles he’d drawn and the connected lines. Her eyes grew steadily wider and she felt her skin prickle with excitement.

“It is,” she assured her friend. “It’s…” she looked up and felt her breath catch with the first spark of hope she’d felt in weeks. “This is everything Jared Griffin was working on before he was arrested.”

She rifled through all the pages in her hands, her heart pounding steadily in her throat. It was right there in black and white.

Apollo Consulting.

A series of off-shore accounts that bounced money all over the world and finally to and from a company in Baltimore whose name both Griffin and Eddie had drawn question marks around. Eddie had written the name _Harriet Williams_ in the margins before her attention was drawn to the next page.

She looked up, eyes wide. “I have to talk to Jared Griffin.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't worry, guys. These cliffhangers aren't going to be nearly as painful since I'm finishing this story before the end of summer. Let me know what you think!
> 
> If you want to play, come and hang out on Tumblr @idontgettechnology 
> 
> And if you want to listen to a podcast about fanfic (usually Avengers because I'm myopic at best :-D ): ishipitpod.com


	13. Thirteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Get out your red strings, baby, it's finally time to put it all together

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woof. This took long enough! This story is going to be finished before I have to plan out my NaNo, so stay with me!

Thirteen

  
Calvin Harper sounded like he’d been waiting for her phone call. He was much more accommodating in this conversation than he’d been at The Jury Box and by the time Darcy had finished rambling through her thoughts and theories, he’d already set up a meeting for the next morning at the prison.

If not for one portion of his research, Darcy might have been able to piece it together herself. But there was one whole folder that she’d found in Eddie’s office, a thick stack of print outs, words and numbers scribbled on every inch of the page, going in all different directions. Big, bold lines intersected some corners and looked like they’d been drawn with an angry black crayon. She’d tried squinting at some of the legible words but nothing beyond a few phrases at a time made any sense. Page after page of nonsense that looked like the ramblings of a lunatic.

She’d brought it with her on a whim, hoping Griffin had the key stored somewhere in his memory.

Jared Griffin was still an incredibly handsome man, though his ten months behind bars had taken a toll. He was thinner than she remembered from when she’d seen him in person. His short cropped black hair salted with more grays than before. He looked tired. Sad. And more than a little surprised to see them when he was escorted into the interview room.

The guard removed his handcuffs so he could embrace Calvin quickly and then he turned his attention to Darcy, who stood to offer a handshake. “I know you,” he said by way of greeting as he enveloped her hand with his. “You’re—”

“Captain America’s girlfriend,” she finished with a roll of her eyes at the only epithet by which she was ever recognized.

He smiled as they sat down. “I was going to say the woman who apprehended the Brooklyn Carver last year,” he said. “But I hear Cap’s quite a catch.”

Darcy smiled back and gave a modest shrug. “Well, he makes great pancakes,” she quipped, pleased when Jared’s smile widened.

He clasped his hands on the table in front of him. “What can I do for you today, Officer—”

“Lewis,” Calvin supplied.

“You can just call me Darcy,” she assured them both quickly. “I have to ask you about some…intel,” she decided on the word carefully, not wanting to give too much away to anyone listening on the CC tv, “that was uncovered while I was looking into your case.”

He nodded and sat back. “Okay,” he said patiently. “I’ll do my best to answer your questions.”

“Who is Harriet Williams and what is her connection to Apollo Consulting?”

Jared raised his eyebrows and exchanged a glance with his attorney. “Oh boy,” he commented lightly. “You really have been digging, haven’t you?”

“My partner was,” she clarified. “We have a source who thinks that you were the victim of a set-up.”

“I’ve heard that theory,” he said evenly.

“But until yesterday, we couldn’t draw any clear lines between you and what he thinks has been happening in the last year and if any of it was connected to the attacks.”

“Well it’s all connected, I’m afraid,” he said with a defeated roll of his shoulders. “Unfortunately, it’s all conjecture—I got just close enough to be silenced before I could do anything about it.”

She frowned and glanced between him and Harper. “But you’re not silenced,” she reminded. “They didn’t _kill_ you—”

“No,” he agreed. “Worse. They killed the best part of me and everything I’ve worked for my whole life. They took my family, my career, my credibility…” He offered a sad smile. “I don’t expect you to understand how little anyone listens to a black man in a prison jumpsuit, Officer Lewis.”

She sighed and sat back, crossing her arms over her chest. “Fine,” she said after a moment’s consideration. “But at least tell me what you were working on,” she reached into the bag she’d brought and removed the stack of paperwork from Eddie’s research. She watched as Jared’s eyes widened at the sight of the folder of scribbled pages. “You know what this is, don’t you?”

He sighed. “I hadn’t gotten through decoding it by the time…”

She placed her hand on the top of the pages. “You think whatever is in here is the key to stopping what’s coming?”

He moved his shoulders. “I couldn't say,” he admitted. “But I know that whoever wrote it went to a whole lot of trouble to make sure no one found it. And I’m afraid ninety minutes isn’t nearly enough time to unpack all of it with you.”

“I don’t care,” she said brusquely. “Walk me through what you can and I’ll figure out a way to make somebody listen to me. And if we can find the link between this and what happened to your wife,” she locked eyes with him, “then we’ll figure out a way to get you out of here.”

The room was quiet for what felt like a long time before Jared looked to Harper. “What’d I tell you, Cal?” he asked with a hint of a grin tugging at his lips. “Not all cops are pigs.”

“Let’s revisit that after you’re a free man,” Harper muttered as Darcy opened her file.

 

Ninety minutes later, every hair on the back of her neck was standing on edge and the thrill of a solid lead pounded hard in her chest. She dug for her phone, swiping past the list of missed calls she’d been ignoring for the last three days, while she looked for a cab outside the prison and connected her call as she climbed inside the nearest car. It went to voicemail. “Hey, Sarge,” she said in a conversational tone. “It’s Lewis. I’m gonna need to meet with you and Driscoll and—fuck it—Hutchinson, too. It’s really important. I’m on my way to the precinct…I—um—yeah, I did exactly what you told me not to.” Her heart was still hammering high in her throat as she ended that call and made one more.

Her commanding officers and Special Agent Hutchinson were already clustered in Driscoll’s office when she skidded into the bullpen.

“Officer Lewis,” Hutchinson greeted in a bored drawl. “Disobey any direct orders lately?”

“Just the important ones,” she said without missing a beat and pointed to the mess on Driscoll’s desk. “Can I have some space?”

Her lieutenant sighed. “What is this about, Lewis?”

“Catching bad guys,” she said and grabbed the thick files from her purse. “And stopping whatever end of the world shit we’re counting down to.” She made an impatient sweeping motion with her hands. “Move your garbage. This is important.”

“It better be,” he warned and shuffled his paperwork and legal pads aside. “I assume it has nothing to do with the Tip Line shifts I assigned you last week.”

“Nothing at all,” she assured him, eyes down on the papers she’d begun sorting in chronological order. “And you can demote me to traffic cop if this ends up being nothing but right now?” she looked up and implored him with her gaze. “Please just give me a chance to put this all together.”

Driscoll’s desk wasn’t big enough for everything and by the time Nowicki had caught on to the timeline she was trying to piece together, they’d had to move to the floor. Driscoll and Hutchinson watched, intrigued as they were shuffled around the small office to make room for notes and diagrams, photos and bank statements. Nowicki stopped with a page in his hand and studied the handwriting in the margins. “This is Griffin’s,” he said, looking up with confusion. “These are his notes, aren’t they?”

Darcy looked up from her crouched position on the carpet and nodded. “Yeah.”

“How the hell did you get these, Lewis?” Driscoll asked, crouching down beside Nowicki.

She cleared her throat. “Eddie.”

When she looked up again, their stares had intensified. “Eddie?” Driscoll repeated.

“He was helping me out,” she admitted, trying to carefully untie enough of the truth to give her partner the credit he deserved while not implicating herself or anyone else in a theft of information from City Hall. “He got…” she shrugged. “I don’t know, some anonymous tipster sent him all of this information. I didn’t realize how much he’d been able to get through before—” she looked down and cut herself off with a frown. “Sarge, what are you holding?”

Nowicki looked at the printout in his hand. It was a screen-shot of comments in a forum. “Looks like…” he squinted at the small print. “Comment threads?”

“What’s the date?” Darcy asked impatiently, reaching for it.

He squinted again. “Looks like 2014.”

She reached for it a second time. “That’s gotta go earlier then.”

Hutchinson and Driscoll exchanged another glance before Hutch pinched the bridge of his nose. His mustache twitched in annoyance. “Exactly what are we watching you put together here, Lewis?”

“A timeline,” Bucky’s voice shot through the office like a bullet, tearing everyone’s attention to where he stood in the doorway. Behind him stood Steve, Sam, Natasha and Wanda.

Before Darcy could blink, Hutch had drawn his weapon and trained it on Bucky. She jumped to her feet and put her hands up at the same time Bucky did. “Drop your weapon, Agent Hutchinson,” she said before she could stop herself and remember that she had no business giving a DHS agent an order.

Hutch ignored her and leveled his gaze. “Officer Lewis, this is the Winter Soldier. He’s responsible for more than a dozen—”

“Assassinations and terror attacks in the last sixty years,” Bucky finished for him. His voice was steady, his tone matter-of-fact. “They already know.”

“He’s got asylum,” Nowicki said, his eyes snapping between the two men. “DeBlasio’s order.”

“Bullshit,” Hutch scoffed.

“Put your weapon down, Agent,” Driscoll said firmly. “You’re not shooting my CI in my office.”

Hutch’s expression twitched in confusion, but his stance didn’t change. “CI?” he repeat. “You’re serious?”

“Dead serious,” Darcy assured him, trying to swallow the lump of dread sitting in the back of her throat. “I asked him to come here so we could have all of our information in one place and try to piece this together.” She waited another second before she coughed. “And we can’t do that if you don’t get your gun out of his face.”

It felt like an eternity before Hutchinson finally lowered his weapon, not taking his eyes off Bucky. “Asylum and immunity aren’t the same thing,” he muttered.

Darcy kept her eye roll in check and focused on the relief that they might actually be able to get somewhere when all was said and done. Bucky ignored the comment and crossed Driscoll’s office in two strides to look at what Darcy had cobbled together. “What did you get from Griffin?”

“Griffin?” Driscoll choked. “You spoke with him?”

“Yes,” Darcy said and handed Bucky a stack of his own notes. “Put these where you think they fit in with what Griffin had. I’m going chronologically.”

“How the fuck did you manage to get in to speak with Jared Griffin without me knowing about it?” Driscoll blustered indignantly.

Darcy steeled herself for a reprimand and looked her lieutenant in the eye. “I called his lawyer and asked nicely.”

“Lieutenant Driscoll,” Steve jumped in and approached the side of Driscoll’s desk. “Can you give me a hand moving this? I think we’re going to need more room.”

Driscoll hit her with another steely glare. “You and I are going to have a conversation you aren’t going to enjoy,” he warned before he stepped to the other side of his desk.

“I expect nothing less,” Darcy assured him. She waited until Driscoll had turned around before she shot Steve a grateful look for the way he pretended to struggle with his side of the desk.

Wanda startled her as she appeared at her side and tilted her head slightly. “Darcy, may I see that pile, please?”

Hesitantly, Darcy handed over the folder of scribbled madness and watched Wanda flip through the first few pages with interest. “Griffin dug that up on the dark web a week before his wife was murdered,” she said and cleared her throat. “He said he’d only scratched the surface of decoding it.”

“Great,” Hutch bristled, his eyes still tracking Bucky’s every move. “Another fucking puzzle.”

“Wanda’s great at puzzles,” Natasha spoke up from where she was helping Sam sort the relevant files from the Hydra dump.

“I just like them,” Wanda said passively before her delicate features had folded in concentration. “Do you mind if I take a look?”

“Help yourself,” Driscoll said before Darcy could nod. He looked around the room and sighed. “Nowicki, you’re running this morning’s briefing. I need you with the squad while I deal with this.”

“Yes, sir,” Nowicki clipped and picked up the familiar stack of briefing notes from Driscoll’s desk.

“See, Lewis?” Driscoll motioned to Nowicki’s back as he headed for the door. “That’s what following orders looks like.”

Darcy offered a quick flash of a smile. “Looks easy enough, sir.” In her pocket, her phone buzzed with an incoming call. Darcy checked the screen and ignored it.

“You should give it a try some time,” her lieutenant groused before he cleared his throat and glanced around. “Let’s divide and conquer here,” he decided. “Hutch, work with Lewis so she can bring you up to speed on what she got from Griffin,” he pointed at Bucky, “Barnes, walk me through what you had initially. Rogers, Wilson, what’ve you got?”

“Mostly stuff on Apollo consulting--the bids and contracts from city planning,” Sam answered from his crouched position on the floor.

“Fine,” Driscoll nodded before he turned his attention to Natasha and Wanda and motioned to the pages they were examining together. “Let us know if any of that starts making sense.”

At the very least, Darcy told herself later, having all of the information and all of her sources together in the same room definitely made things easier to handle. After an hour of sorting and swapping and rearranging papers and photos, obituaries and purchase orders, the floor of Driscoll’s office finally looked like something concrete.

“So we’ve got five dead,” Hutch started, crossing his arms over his broad chest. “Reeves at City Water, Wheeler at Northfield, Thurman at Gas and Electric, McCall on city planning, and Guadio at 911.” He glanced around. “As soon as McCall’s replacement took his seat on council a whole bunch of projects started getting approved,” he looked at Driscoll. “That right?”

Driscoll nodded and motioned for Bucky to continue. “Apollo Consulting bid on every project,” Bucky said after clearing his throat. “They were approved for twelve.”

“The blast sights,” Steve filled in from where he was leaning against the wall.

“Every last one,” Darcy added. “Which could have been a coincidence until Jared Griffin told me that he had suspicions that Apollo’s been washing money for this Harriet Williams out of Maryland.” She started motioning to the floor again. “From everything Griffin found, Harriet Williams doesn’t exist. Probably a fake name linked to a dummy account to look legit on paper,” she added with a shrug. “But while she hasn’t been existing, she’s been footing the bill for most of Apollo’s operating capital for the last two years.”

Sam stepped in and motioned to where he and Steve had reconstructed the relevant pages from the data dump. “The devices used in the attacks were exact replicas of an early SHIELD explosive. And we think they might have been put in place by crews working under this particular requisition,” he pointed a shoe at a document from city hall, “that approved a workforce increase for construction projects along most of the bridges.”

“How many of those projects were near blast sights?” Hutch asked.

“Enough,” Bucky said gruffly. “I think it’s safe to assume that whatever they’re counting down to is going to be something that aims to disrupt either the water system or the power grid and most likely kill a lot of people in the process.”

They were quiet for a moment, looking at their timeline and back up at each other.

“But we don’t know who they are,” Driscoll said, finally giving voice to the failure that had been taunting Darcy for months. “And we don’t know why they’re doing this.”

“And we don’t know what exactly they’re going to do,” Darcy added and dropped into Driscoll’s chair with a heavy sigh, trying her hardest not to feel defeated. The dread and anxiety were back, mixing and churning at the back of her throat like bile.

“What about you two?” Hutch asked, turning to address Wanda and Natasha. “Anything?”

“Plenty,” Wanda said evenly, not taking her eyes off the page in her hand. “Unfortunately, it’s like it was written by fifteen crazy people all at once.” She looked up at Darcy. “Where did Griffin say he got this?”

Darcy shrugged. “Dark web? Said it was buried behind a million different firewalls and way more security than he would have expected for something that made so little sense. That’s why he kept it,” she added. “He figured it had to mean something for this guy to so overboard with his security.”

Hutch crossed the room and held out a hand for a sample of the pages. “This is nonsense,” he stated after only a few seconds of studying it. “I can send it to QD and free up some of you manpower.” He dropped the five pages Natasha had given him on the chair where she indicated he could set them down. Three of them slipped and fluttered gracefully to the ground as he turned away to address Driscoll. “You got someone here, or should I call my guy?”

But Driscoll wasn’t listening. His eyes had fallen to the floor. Curious, Darcy turned around and followed his gaze to where the papers had dropped.

Specifically, _how_ they had dropped.

“There’s no way...” she said softly and crossed the office in a few hurried steps. The pages had fallen in just the right way so that two of the bold, black lines that raced over most of the papers seemingly in no order, lined up perfectly. As soon as she got closer, Darcy could see that the words surrounding the lines matched up as well. The sentence that began on the first page continued on the second, its words suddenly making sense.

When she looked up again, even Hutchinson’s usual expression of derision had faded to one of surprise. “Everyone’s seeing this,” she clarified as she got to her knees. “Right?”

“I’m seeing it, Lewis,” Driscoll assured her. “I don’t know what I’m looking at, but I’m seeing it.”

Cautiously, almost afraid to disturb the breakthrough they were courting, Wanda slid from her chair and got on the floor beside Darcy. She reached for her stack of pages and flipped through with quick fingers and furrowed brow before she found what she was looking for. She laid another page down and Darcy felt her heart stutter as another black line continued and more complete thoughts began to emerge.

“Kimball was smart to print it out,” Driscoll muttered, shaking his head. “If Griffin was only looking at this on his computer, there’s no way he would have seen any connection.”

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” Hutchinson warned, though Darcy could see there was a fidget of excitement he was trying to fight. “We don’t know what kind of connection we’re looking at.”

“Then let’s finish the puzzle,” Steve spoke up from where he’d been standing with Bucky. “Wanda,” his voice had shifted into the tone Darcy only heard when he was giving orders. Wanda’s head snapped up. “Think you can put it together?”

She nodded and glanced up at her sudden audience. “Give me a few minutes and some space, please?”

Driscoll nodded and cleared his throat. “I’m gonna get coffee,” he decided out loud. “I’ll bring some back.”

“Seriously?” Darcy asked before she could stop herself.

“Seriously,” he said flatly before he coughed again. “Hutch, help carry.”

The DHS agent looked confused before he reluctantly took a few steps toward the door. Darcy smothered a pleased smile between her lips and couldn’t resist the urge to needle her boss further. “I like cream and sugar in mine,” she called after him.

Driscoll waved his hand. “I don’t give a shit,” he assured her. “You’re all getting what I get you.”

She was still chuckling when her phone went off again. “And Lewis,” her LT said without turning around, “those better be personal calls I’ve watched you ignore all morning.”

Darcy rolled her eyes and ignored the number again. When she turned back to the scene on the floor, Wanda, Natasha, Sam and Steve had already made a surprising amount of progress.

With the pages laid out, Darcy could see that it really was like a puzzle. The lines connected over the pages in lines that curled almost artistically, occasionally forming loose grids and swirls over the entire documents. The words surrounding them shifted into clear sentences punctuated by symbols that were starting to make sense. Numbers in strings that no longer appeared random.

This was it, she finally let herself hope.  This was how they were going to stop them. Whoever they were, whatever they were planning. This was the key to shutting it all down.

She just had to be patient and let it come together.

 

 

By the time the pages were all placed and confirmed to be in the right spot, the coffees Driscoll had brought them were beginning to turn cold. The result was impressive, to say the least. When Wanda set the final page in its rightful place, everyone in the room had to take a step back.

“Holy hell,” Driscoll murmured, shaking his head. “This is...”

“Chaos,” Bucky said quietly, unaware that the echo of his earliest warning sent a chill down Darcy’s back.

“Organized chaos,” Wanda clarified. “It’s meant to be seen in two ways,” she motioned to the big picture she’d just constructed. “This... network or whatever it is,” her hands moved to point to the bottom right corner. “And the actual narrative, which reads backwards when it’s all together.”

“So what the hell is it?” Hutchinson finally asked, his eyes apparently tired of squinting to read the words they’d strung together.

“It’s a manifesto,” Natasha said quietly, her head tilted to one side. “At least, I think it is.” From where she stood, she was in a better position to read what Wanda had referred to as the actual narrative. “They call their group the Seventy-Six Hounds of Havoc?” she glanced up and checked for recognition between the members of law enforcement.

Sam frowned. “Well that’s a bit much,” he muttered and crossed his arms over his chest. “What do they want?”

She cleared her throat and continued reading. “To free humanity from the manacles of dependence and our addiction to technology and return mankind to its warrior beginnings.”

When she looked up again, she was met with expectant looks.

“They need all that bullshit just to say _that_?” Driscoll scoffed.

“That’s the thing about terrorists,” Hutchinson grumbled. “They tend to be drama queens.”

“There _is_ more,” Natasha warned, testy at the interruption. Her eyes scanned quickly. “But, yeah, pretty much. That second part there is all about how no one in the world knows how to operate without technology anymore and how we’ve all gotten fat and complacent because of the cops and military and the Avengers,” she shared a glance with Steve. Darcy watched him shift as the square of his jaw tightened.

“Anything else?”

“Plenty,” she assured them, her eyes skimming faster before she stopped and pointed. “Middle part, third page in from the left. Start there.”

Darcy did as she was asked and they all shuffled to join Natasha on her side of the papers to read clearly. The words were in all different handwriting, sometimes changing styles halfway through a word, but the message was clear enough. Her heart sank fast with dread.

Bucky had been right. The chaos they’d been planning and working toward was centered around the power grid and the manifesto celebrated the idea of destroying access to electricity and technology for everyone. Starting in New York City and expanding in a wide radius until the entire world was back in the dark ages.

“Okay, so we know who they are and what they want to do,” Sam said evenly when he took a step back and shook his head. “But we still don’t know where. Or how. Or what these lines have to do with any of it. I mean, unless whoever made this just wanted the ability to be able to piece it all together like this.”

But Wanda was already shaking her head. “Nothing about this has been random. These people are very organized. There’s a reason for everything they do.” Her gaze moved to Bucky and her brow creased in confusion. “What’s wrong?”

Bucky’s own features had twisted in concentration. “Wilson, what did you just say?”

Sam exchanged a glance with Natasha. “I...said that we don’t know where or how any of this is going down?”

“No,” Bucky shook his head. “Something about putting it together?”

“Yeah, I said maybe they drew this shit so they could remember how to put their Big Book of Armageddon together if they needed to.”

“That’s it,” Bucky snapped the fingers on his right hand excitedly and sprinted to the other side of the office where they’d assembled the timeline. “Darcy, remember when we dug up all of those purchase orders from those Chinese companies?”

She blinked. “Uh, no,” she admitted. “There’s a lot of moving parts in my brain right now. But what about them?”

“We were looking for something big or obvious in the purchase orders,” he reminded, more patiently than she probably deserved as he looked through their work. “But I think we should have narrowed the scope a little bit. If they bought smaller pieces of machinery from different corporations--”

“They could put it together themselves,” Tony Stark’s voice rocketed through the crowded office and lassoed everyone’s attention to where he stood in the doorway.

“Who the hell are you?” Hutchinson asked, bordering on the edge of exasperation.

Stark gave him an even look. “Come on,” he said seriously. “You know the answer to that question.”

“What are you doing here, Tony?” Steve asked with a shake of his head as Tony sauntered in like he owned the place.

“I’m sorry, is this a private Save the City party?” he asked before he pointed at Darcy. “Your girl called me, Cap.”

“You didn’t respond,” she reminded, resisting the urge to roll her eyes. “Everyone else has been here all day.”

He shrugged. “I like to make an entrance and I didn’t have anything to contribute until about an hour ago when FRIDAY came to the same conclusion as Ironside,” he motioned to Bucky. “I didn’t mean to interrupt,” he added, sounding genuine. “Go on.”

The attention slid back to Bucky who had grown more tense before he cleared his throat. “I think that’s what they’re doing--or planning on doing,” he said and bent to retrieve the purchase orders he had referenced.

To Darcy’s surprise, he crossed the room and offered them to Stark. “You’d probably be able to figure out what they’re building before we do,” he said, quietly, not quite making eye contact. “The plan seems to be centered on disrupting--”

“The power grid,” Tony said under his breath as he flipped to a rendering of a piece of equipment that almost resembled a periscope. He frowned before he looked up at Bucky. “How good’s your Mandarin?”

“It’s shit,” Bucky said with a shrug before he pointed to the characters on the page. “But my Cantonese is passable, so I shouldn’t have any problem translating these if that’s what you’re asking.”

Tony’s jaw tightened for the briefest of seconds before he swallowed hard and took what appeared to Darcy to be a deep, centering breath. Darcy held her breath too, waited for Stark to say something that would make Bucky want to squeeze his windpipe, or his eyes grow cold, or worse, make him shut down all together.

But Tony only let out the breath he’d inhaled and nodded. “Shouldn’t take too long. Bring me what you’ve got.”

As they shuffled toward the only free corner remaining to work, Darcy caught the confused look on Steve’s face. “What’s up?” she asked, crossing to him.

Still frowning, he pointed to the bullpen through the open door. “Is that...” he tilted his head to one side. “Isn’t that Ginger?”

Darcy felt her eyes widen and her face twist in confusion as she spun to follow his point. “Yup,” she said, wondering if her stomach could sink any lower today. “Sure is.”

Ginger, the mama-bird of the group of sex workers Darcy had infiltrated when she’d worked in Vice. The woman who had legitimately saved her life and helped her solve her biggest case to date. The woman who, if she was honest, Darcy had always considered a friend before an informant.

With her fire engine red hair and her skin-tight clothing, paired with outrageously high heels and a pair of gold hoops so big they could have been bracelets, Ginger stuck out like a sore thumb in the bullpen. She had another girl with her, a full-figured Hispanic girl with full lips and curly black hair, dressed similarly and shifting nervously when Darcy arrived at her desk.

“Ginger, I’m sorry, but I’m in the middle of something really--”

“This ain’t a social call, Dee,” Ginger said plainly, shifting her weight to one heel so she could lean her hip against Darcy’s desk. “But one of those wouldn’t kill you either,” she added and tossed Darcy a once-over. “Girl, when’s the last time you slept? You look like hell.”

Darcy resisted the urge to roll her eyes. “Thank you,” she quipped. “But if this is your way of asking me to talk to your landlord again or pick up an extra handsy john--”

“Oh, don’t worry,” Ginger cut her off again. “I got plenty of favors left to cash in on. But this ain’t about that.” She snapped her glossy red talons at her companion. “Chica, tell her what you told me.”

The other woman hesitated and Darcy felt what little remained of her patience dwindling away entirely. “Look, I can maybe get someone from Vice to come up and talk to you guys if something happened you want to report,” she began delicately. “But they’re on the verge of a breakthrough with this countdown in Driscoll’s office and I really need to--”

“You need to shut up and listen to what my girl has to tell you,” Ginger insisted as the teasing lilt in her voice evaporated all together. “I wouldn’t even have had to bring us both down here if you’d answered your phone any of the forty times I’ve tried calling you in the last two days.” Before Darcy could apologize for all of the times she’d ignored Ginger’s calls recently, the redhead pointed to her friend again. “Chica,” she snapped. “Talk. She ain’t got all day.”

The youngest of the three licked her lips nervously and scratched at the crook of her elbow. “I...uh, I heard something a few nights ago,” her voice was soft and carried an undeniable Long Island accent. “I had these pair of fratboy-lookin’ johns who wanted to try DP--”

Darcy held up her hand. “Those aren’t the details I’m looking for,” she assured her with a tight smile.

Chica--though Darcy was certain that wasn't her real name--shrugged without apology and continued. “Anyway, it seemed like they were celebrating something and the whole time they were--” she coughed and glanced up at Ginger who rolled her eyes.

“Fucking her,” Ginger offered, loud enough to draw a curious look from a nearby officer.

“They were talking,” Chica continued. “About some job they'd been working on for a while. They kept talking about D-day and how they couldn't wait for phase three?” The hair on the back of Darcy's neck stood up. “But more than that, they were talking about how phase three meant they could come upstairs again?”

She tilted her head. “Come upstairs?”

“That's what they said,” Chica shrugged. “I think they must have been working underground, though.”

“What makes you say that?”

“They were crazy pale,” she said, shaking her head. “Like, _crazy_ crazy pale.”

Darcy nodded, her mind clicking through the possibilities of how any of this could fit in with what was being put together in the office. “Was there anything else? Did they say anything else about where they'd been working? Or what they were doing?”

Ginger gently smacked Chica’s arm. “Tell her.”

“They uh--one of them, pulled up the countdown on his phone and was like, ‘Eight days, sixteen hours, and forty-eight minutes until we cry havoc.’” She shook her head at the memory and rubbed at the back of her neck. “And like, that really freaked me out. This guy was _super_ into it, but his buddy was just like, ‘Eight days until all our stuff doesn't smell like coffee and shit anymore.”

Brow furrowed, Darcy scribbled down each line on a nearby notepad. “And they just...had no problem speaking freely like this around you?”

Chica smirked. “I didn't feel like chit-chat that night, so I just put on my big brown eyes and told them I didn't _habla._ ” She shrugged again. “They weren't that hard to convince, honestly.”

“Fair enough,” Darcy agreed and clicked her pen and raised her eyes to Ginger. “Thanks for coming down,” she said, glancing over what she’d just written. “I’m sorry I didn’t answer the phone--could have saved you a trip.”

Ginger pursed her lips. “You can buy us both a drink if we don’t get blown up in six days,” she shrugged and offered Darcy a small smile. “Or you can tell my landlord that he can’t evict my ass just because he just found Jesus in a sweet potato or whatever.”

Darcy couldn’t help but smile back. “I’m on it, Ginge.”

“Lewis,” Driscoll barked from his office and beckoned her back with a jerk of his head.

Darcy grabbed her notepad and stood from her chair. “That’s my cue,” she muttered and held up her notes. “I’ll let you know if this turns out. And, seriously,” she added sincerely, “I’m sorry I was ignoring you.”

“Pssh,” Ginger leaned in and pressed her lips to Darcy’s cheek. “It ain’t no thing,” she assured her. “You’re still my girl, Dee.”

Stark had transformed the office by the time she returned, mind whirling. Between his knowledge of engineering and Bucky’s translation and their shared experience with military weapons, they were mocking up a few possibilities for what might have been constructed based on the purchase orders. Illuminations of complex weaponry and devices were projected from several Stark phones around the office.

Darcy frowned as she looked from one mock-up to the other. “How big are these machines?”

Tony mirrored her frown and approached the first of four possibilities that was only about a quarter of the way complete. “Big,” he admitted. “There are three or four designs they might be working from--but likely it’s a combination of something they lifted from the Hydra dump and some Cold War Stark-Tech prototypes that never needed to go into production.”

“Okay,” she said slowly, “but how big is big?”

“The original Cold War designs are about the size of a station wagon,” Bucky spoke up. “They could have shaved down some of the bulk with relative ease but still, to deliver the kind of charge they’re alluding to in some of these comment threads,” he shrugged, arms crossed over his chest. “I can’t imagine they’d be able to build anything smaller than...maybe 6x6? Three to four feet tall?”

“You think that kind of thing would be hard to hide if they’re building it in the city?” Hutchinson asked, approaching the nearest projection to study it closely. “They’d need to have a big enough workspace to assemble, and I’d imagine a ton of resources that would go into assembly. There’s gotta be some evidence of that in utility bills.”

While the conversation turned to requisitioning utility bills and monitoring usage and other things there just wasn’t time for, Darcy’s attention turned back to the notes she’d just scribbled with Ginger and Chica. She wandered away from Tony’s projections and returned to the manifesto.

She looked at how she’d underlined the words _pale_ and _upstairs_ and tilted her head, purposefully blurring her eyes so the words of the pages faded behind the looping, cris-crossing lines. “Hey, Lieutenant?” she asked, not looking up as she waved him over. “Does this look like a subway map to you?"

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, it's another cliffhanger. Yes, they're annoying but this chapter was SO LONG and kind of dry that I thought we'd all like a quick breather before the shit goes down.
> 
> And don't worry, it IS going to go down.
> 
> If you're still on this whirly gig of madness, let me know? Love you and love you all.


	14. Fourteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Her heart thudded in her ears so loudly she was certain everyone could hear it. She kept swallowing down her urge to vomit, kept telling herself that this would all be over soon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going to need you lovely folks to suspend your disbelief for all the tactical and sciencey stuff, okay? 
> 
> We're SO CLOSE to the end friends! Let me know what you think and stay with me :-*

Fourteen

 

It did, in fact, look like a subway map to Driscoll and to everyone else in the office. With the MTA map Tony projected over the thick black lines on the pages, it was even more obvious that this was what they were dealing with.

“It explains a lot,” Hutch admitted as he leaned against Driscoll’s desk, his arms crossed again before he raised his eyes to Darcy. “Is that hooker a reliable source?”

“That sex worker,” she corrected pointedly, “is absolutely reliable and on top of that,” she added with a half-smile, “Ginger hates cops more than anything else. She wouldn’t have brought her all the way down here just to bullshit us.”

“So, what are we thinking?” Sam asked, breaking the tension of the glare Hutchinson was sharing with Darcy. “They’ve been building this machine or device or whatever underground, using the subway tunnels?”

“There’s only what, 800 miles of subway line to comb through?” Driscoll groused. “Shouldn’t be too hard to narrow down where they’re operating.”

Bucky frowned in thought and shuffled Darcy to one side to study the words of the manifesto. “Why seventy-six?” he muttered, crouching down along the edge of the pages.

Steve looked up with interest. “What?”

“Why do they call themselves the Seventy-Six Hounds of Havoc?” he repeated, pointing to the center of the work. “Is that how many there are? Is that a year they’re focusing on?”

“FRIDAY,” Tony called to his AI. “Run a search for significance to seventy-six?”

“Sure thing, boss,” FRIDAY chirped back, startling the two men who weren’t accustomed to her.

Darcy watched as the device in Tony’s hand was flooded suddenly with information. He watched the results scroll for a minute before he flicked his wrist and slapped the projection on the only plain white wall of Driscoll’s office.

It was another minute of scrolling before Tony cleared his throat again. “Localize, please?”

“Localizing,” FRIDAY responded and the words on the wall began to shift and condense, extraneous results filtering themselves as they watched.

Darcy frowned at the results. “Can we ditch everything about the Revolutionary War?” she asked, narrowing the search even further. “And the basketball team?”

“Certainly.”

“Cross-reference with the terror attacks, water and power, and subway lines,” Driscoll added, not taking his eyes from the results that dwindled considerably at his request.

Darcy scanned the group while they considered what FRIDAY had delivered. Her eyes fell on Steve’s furrowed brow of concentration. “Something look familiar?” she asked, pulling his attention away from the wall.

“What’s the 76th Street Subway Station?”

Wanda’s eyebrows lifted. “Sounds promising,” she mused.

But Driscoll was already shaking his head. “No chance,” he decided firmly. “76th Street is a myth.”

Darcy scrubbed at her eyes in frustration. “So is Slenderman, LT, but if there’s a chance he could tell me where these Hounds of Havoc are hiding, I’d at least click on the link.”

“Lewis, do you know how much time and money people have wasted trying to prove that some bricked up piece of the old system is still accessible?” He didn’t wait for an answer before he addressed FRIDAY again. “Show them if you want,” he said with a dismissive shrug. “But it’s all bullshit.”

“Humor me,” Hutchinson insisted, surprising Darcy with a roll of his eyes.

The slew of articles filled the wall as Driscoll spoke again. “The 76th St. subway station was a stop that was abandoned after completion back in the fifties. Ever since then, it’s been like, an urban explorer wet dream to convince everyone that they’ve seen the abandoned station and that you can walk around in it.” He sighed and shook his head. “You can’t, though. Even if it wasn’t destroyed and absorbed by the F—which it was—” he added with a pointed look in Darcy’s direction. “It would’ve been sealed off and completely inaccessible for the last seventy years. No way anyone could have gotten into it without a jackhammer and a whole lotta commotion.”

Steve was studying the map again and glancing between the articles. “I think he’s right,” he said after a minute.

Darcy groaned. “Et tu?” she asked with a heavy exhale. “We could at least look into it.”

But Steve was shaking his head. “No, really, Darce,” he said, standing up from where he’d crouched next to Bucky. “It’d be a waste of time. Even if it exists, the 76th is all the way out in Queens. There was nothing even close to Queens in the initial attacks or any of these construction bids we’ve been looking at.”

“Thank you,” Driscoll huffed, extending a hand to Steve in gratitude. “Someone’s paying attention.”

“So, hello, Square One, my old friend,” Darcy grumbled, dropping into Driscoll’s chair before he could protest.

“Did your hook—” Hutchinson coughed and started over, “sex worker give you anything else we could use?”

If she wasn’t balancing the urge to vomit with terror and pass out from exhaustion and cry out of frustration, Darcy would have offered him a smile at his correction. As it was, she managed a look with a little less hostility than usual and held up her notepad for his examination.

“Eight days until we cry havoc,” he read, his mustache twitching brusquely with each word. “Eight days ‘til our stuff doesn’t smell like coffee and shit.” He handed it back to her, unimpressed. “Yeah, not exactly a geotag.”

Across the room, Darcy noticed Wanda’s head shoot up, her eyes large. “What did you say?” she asked as her eyebrows narrowed. “What do they smell like?”

Hutch raised a thick eyebrow. “Coffee and shit?” he asked, glancing back down for clarification.

Steve and Sam exchanged a look as Wanda pointed to them. “Where were you that day?” she demanded. “That day you came back smelling so bad?”

“We were at the Brooklyn Bridge,” Sam answered after a moment’s recollection.

“Manhattan side,” Steve added. “But we were...”

As Steve trailed off, Sam met his stare again. “Inland,” Sam continued, softly as the realization dawn on his face. “Underground...near the foundations.”

“Underground?” Tony repeated, sliding results around on FRIDAY’s projections. “Like...maybe...close to the old City Hall station?”

As Darcy’s pulse quickened, Natasha tilted her head to one side in thought. “Wait. I’ve been there,” she said with conviction. “I took a tour there once.”

“I’ve been there too,” Darcy admitted as Tony found a series of photos of the abandoned City Hall station and a memory swiftly returned of a day of touristy-fun she’d spent with her parents right after she’d moved to the city. Her shoulders dropped in disappointment. “There’s no way that’s it,” she decided and sat back again. “Anyone with a museum membership can walk through the whole thing.”

“No, they can’t!” Wanda exclaimed, startling the attention of the room back over to her, where she was staring at her phone. “They can’t walk through it,” she repeated herself with excitement. “There’ve been a half dozen construction projects around the access point that have kept it closed to the public and inaccessible for the last two years.”

“What?” Driscoll asked. “How’d you figure that out?”

She held up the screen of her phone. “I just tried to buy a ticket for a tour,” she said with an almost uncharacteristic brightness in her voice. “There’s an error saying it’s unavailable because of construction and the message hasn’t been updated since 2016.”

Looking skeptical, Tony cleared his throat. “FRIDAY?”

“Double-checking, boss,” the AI responded before she transferred the image on Wanda’s phone to the wall and returned a few articles and work orders that confirmed the news. “Wanda’s right. It appears the City Hall station has been closed for the last twenty-two months.”

Tony looked at Bucky. “What do you think?” he asked, motioning to their mock-ups. “That long enough to have put one of these together?”

“More than enough,” Bucky said with a grave nod.

Darcy’s pulse had started to race again. “How can we be sure this is the right place?” she asked carefully, willing herself not to get too excited too quickly.

FRIDAY answered before anyone else had the chance. “Scans of the surrounding areas note an increase in foot traffic and heat signatures with a steady increase in recent months. Also noted is an rise in complaints of disorderly behavior in bars and convenient stores in a three-block radius from the station site, increasing steadily since the explosions.”

“That could be a coincidence,” Hutch said, though Darcy could tell he was trying not to get his hopes up too.

“Scan of witness statements when police responded to disorderly complaints include three different instances of the phrase ‘cry havoc’, which corresponds with the verbiage included in the manifesto recently uploaded for my review,” the AI replied before she paused for another moment and added, “Statistical data suggests that a coordinated attack and seizure of the individuals in this particular location within the next 24 hours will result in the highest rate of success in neutralizing imminent danger.”

The DHS agent raised his eyebrows and appeared on the verge of being impressed. It lasted only a moment before he dropped his gaze to the floor and shook his head. “Still feels too risky.”

Darcy, torn between wanting to slam his head or her own against Driscoll’s desk, stifled a sigh. “What would make it feel less risky?” she forced herself to ask calmly. “More importantly, what do we have time for?”

He seemed surprised that she’d asked such a measured question. “Ideally, I’d like eyes on this actual operation. We could blow this whole thing on conjecture. There’s no hard proof that’s where they’re hiding out.”

From the corner of her eye, she saw Steve and Sam exchange a look. She quirked an eyebrow. “What are you two thinking?”

Sam smiled modestly. “I was thinking maybe it’s been too long since I’ve taken Redwing for a stroll across the river.”

“If you’re talking about walking a fucking dog—” Driscoll started before Steve held up a hand.

“It’s a stealth device,” he said with a smile. “Linked up on Stark’s network—Sam can fly it over and do a close-up scan of the area.”

The lieutenant frowned. “Even underground?”

“GPR up to 200 feet,” Tony said before he added thoughtfully, “Do you guys want that? Would it help with like, digging up bodies?”

“We can talk about department upgrades if we all survive the next week,” Darcy reminded before she turned her attention back to Sam. “How long would it take you to get over there and scan?”

He shrugged again. “Few hours? Just to be safe and thorough. Make sure nobody catches onto what I’m doing.”

It took everything she had to steady herself with an inhale and turn back to Hutchinson. “Would that be enough time to put your team on standby?” she asked. “Just in case it turns out that we’re right and this is the right move?”

Hutchinson blinked. “My team?”

She steadied herself again. “Well, it is your case, isn’t it?”

Across the room, Driscoll’s eyebrows lifted in a moment of surprise before he cleared his throat. “Officer Lewis is right,” he said, seemingly reminding himself of the same thing. “Obviously you’ve got my department at your disposal, but we’ll stand down if we’re not needed.”

Their adversary-turned-CO paused thoughtfully and tilted his head. “I’m going to call my guys,” he said finally. “But once I know what we’re walking into, I’ll take your help assembling additional teams.”

“Teams?” Darcy asked, hopefully.

“Teams,” he repeated. “Probably two or three more. A group like this needs a coordinated effort, flanked on all sides with no chance to escape.”

“Okay then,” she said with a nod and swung her hands by her sides. “I guess I’ll just...wait for an update.”

The office cleared out in moments. Natasha, Wanda, Steve, and Tony left with Sam, promising to return with information. Darcy let her eyes move from Bucky to Driscoll and finally to Hutchinson before she coughed. “So...back to the tip line for me,” she said after a long moment of almost-awkward silence.

“Tip line?” Driscoll repeated, shaking his head. “You’ve gotta be kidding me.” Her heart soared for all of one second before he pointed to her and Bucky. “You two trashed my office,” he reminded, looking around at the mess. “The least you can do is clean it up before we move forward.”

When she looked up, the corner of Bucky’s mouth twitched into a quick smirk before he shrugged. “That’s kinda fair.”

Darcy sighed again. “Fine.”

“Hang on,” Hutch held up a hand. “I need documentation of all this.”

“You want a nice camera?” Driscoll asked. “I’ve gotta run up to CSI anyway, you can take your pick.”

Hutch hesitated. His eyes, still guarded and mistrustful, slid over to Bucky and then to Darcy, who raised her eyebrows. “Seriously?” she asked, crossing her arms over her chest. “You’re worried about leaving us alone? Afraid we’re going to stage a coup or something?”

“You’re not what I’m worried about, officer,” he snapped. “And forgive me for not taking working-with-a-known-assassin as quickly in stride as the rest of you.”

Darcy sighed. “He lives in my house, Agent. We’ve been together every day for the last three months. He’s not a threat.”

“I could have killed her at least sixty-eight different times by now,” Bucky stated plainly, not looking up from where he’d started rereading the terrorist’s manifesto again.

Darcy stood up straighter as her brow furrowed in concern. “Really?” she asked. “Sixty-eight? That feels like a lot.”

“I can’t help that I think about these things,” he admitted with a shrug before he finally glanced up and offered her a half-smile. “And I only ever really consider it when you use all the hot water.”

“See?” Driscoll asked gruffly, motioning to their back-and-forth. “They’re fine. They’re like a weird, adopted, former-brainwashed, pain-in-the-ass cop brother-sister pair. They’re not going anywhere. Walk with me.”

Begrudgingly, and still shooting Bucky a look full of suspicion, Hutchinson shuffled out of the office with Driscoll.

Darcy sat down on the small couch at the same time as her companion, suddenly exhausted by everything that had transpired in the last eighteen hours. “I can’t wait to take a nap,” she groaned and tossed her head back with a heavy sigh.

To her right, Bucky smirked. “Something tells me you’re going to want to be awake for the rest of the day.”

She scrubbed her hands over her eyes. “Ugh. You’re right.” She wrinkled her nose and fought back a yawn. “God, I can’t wait to be rid of the fucking DHS.”

He let out a dry huff of a laugh. “Can’t blame the guy for doing his job,” he said diplomatically. “And between you and me, I think he kinda likes you.”

Darcy turned and shot him the deadest of dead eyes. “Barf.”

 

***

 

Darcy had seen her department in high gear before. This was something else. By the time Sam was able to stream his surveillance feed from Redwing, the rest of Hutch’s team had arrived. A group of a dozen men who all looked exactly alike were suddenly strutting through the bullpen and examining the subway maps in Driscoll’s office like they owned the place.

She and Bucky had cleaned up the initial mess and to her relief, Driscoll hadn’t sent her back to the tip line. “Stay up here,” he’d ordered, pointing back toward her desk. “Wait and see if I need you.”

“Waiting and seeing,” she said with a salute. “Got it.”

Bucky was drafted into service once Steve and Sam returned with Tony, Rhodey, Natasha, and Wanda and it was immediately decided that they would be forming one of the strike teams. Without her partner to at least distract her from her nerves, she’d spent the last two hours shooting hopeful glances in Driscoll’s direction, trying not to jump up eagerly whenever anyone walked near her desk.

She’d caught up on her paperwork and filed everything accordingly. She’d tidied and dusted Eddie’s side of the desk and even watered their sad, neglected ficus before she dropped back into her own chair and took out her phone.

This particular call was one she’d been avoiding for weeks. Telling herself it wouldn’t come to this. That this threat would be neutralized before she ever even had to think about it. She took a deep breath and scrolled through her contacts, hesitating for only a moment before she forced herself to hit send and waited while the call connected.

“What’s the buzz, Bumblebee?” Will Lewis’ voice brought a brief, sentimental sting to her eyes as she sucked in another deep breath and pushed a smile he could hear onto her face.

“Not much, Dad. Just calling to say hi,” she raked a hand through her hair and leaned an elbow on the desk. “How’s the trip?”

Her parents had been on a road trip for the last two months, traversing their way across the lower forty-eight to fulfill an item on her mother’s bucket list. Feeling toxic from the political nightmare of the 24-hour news cycle, they’d both disconnected themselves from the internet and the news, promising they’d only use their phones for navigation and calls and texts and only read books that interested them. Before they’d left, Georgia Lewis had confided in her daughter that the media blackout—including a zero-tolerance policy for use of the T-word—was an effort to lower her husband’s blood pressure.

Her father’s blood pressure and his insistence that it wasn’t too high was the reason she hadn’t called to tell them what was going on, what she was working on. His doctor had recommended he do what he could to lower his stress level.

She and her mother had a brief, difficult phone conversation the day after the bombs had gone off. Georgia demanding to know that Darcy was safe and that she wasn’t going to have anything to do with this case and that she’d keep her head down and let the feds handle it.

Dutifully, Darcy had lied to her mother and promised all of the above, and that had been it. For her part of the bargain, she asked that they not watch the news and not read anything about what was going on in New York. She’d call, she promised, if anything big happened.

“Going great,” her father said cheerfully. “Saw the Grand Canyon yesterday.”

“Oh yeah?” she asked, keeping the smile in her voice. “How was it?”

“Big,” he stated simply, drawing a chuckle from his daughter. “Dry. Super wide. Highly recommend it.”

She snorted again and shook her head. “I’ll put it on the list,” she assured him before she cleared her throat. “Still, uh—still doing your media blackout?”

“Oh yeah. I tried to buy a newspaper the other day—your mother snatched it out of my hand and smacked me over the head and gave it to the next homeless guy she saw.”

“Sounds like Mom.”

“How’s the studying? You gonna be ready for your test in December?”

She almost laughed before she stopped herself. “Of course,” she promised. “It’s in the bag.”

“Goddamn right it is,” her father said proudly. “No stopping the Lewises, right?”

With a tight, twist in her chest, Darcy smiled. “That’s right, Dad. Is um—is Mom there?”

“She’s taking a nap right now,” he said. “She got a little too much sun yesterday, really took it out of her. Want me to wake her up?”

“Oh, no,” Darcy shook her head. “No, that’s fine. Let her sleep—tell her I hope she feels better.”

“Of course, Bee.” Her father paused. “Everything okay, kiddo?”

“Everything’s fine,” she lied, forcing another tight smile he couldn’t see. “I just wanted to check in. You guys think you’re going to be back before Thanksgiving?”

“Oh, Christ, I hope so,” Will grumbled. “The honeymoon’s just about over on this RV. Every time I get her up past 60, I feel the planet start to cry.”

She laughed again. “I just figured I’d put it out there now,” she said carefully, “if you and Mom wanted to come into the city for Thanksgiving, maybe Steve and I could cook this year. The new place is big enough for guests and,” she shrugged. “It’d be nice to host you guys for a change.”

She heard her father smile. “That sounds great. I’m sure your mom will be on board; I’ll talk to her about it as soon as she wakes up.”

“Great,” Darcy said. “I, uh, I’m at work though so I’ve gotta get going.”

“Yeah, of course,” Will said hurriedly. “It was great hearing from you, sweetheart.”

She swallowed hard, telling herself this wasn’t going to be the last time she talked to him. That everything was going to go according to plan and she’d be stuck cooking a turkey in a month. “I’ll talk to you soon, Dad,” she promised. “I love you.”

“I love you too, Bumblebee.”

They hung up and Darcy forced back the sting behind her nose and the tears pricking at her eyes. She rubbed at her tired eyes with the heels of her hands and let her elbows rest on her desk again, willing herself to hold it together. To get through this thing. And the next. And the thing after that.

“You okay?”

Her head shot up to see Steve studying her with concern. She swallowed hard and nodded. “I’m just looking forward to my next day off.”

Steve offered a sad smile and dropped down to crouch in front of her. He pushed her hair out of her eyes and let the back of his fingers graze her cheek. “Me too,” he said softly.

“Lewis!” Driscoll appeared suddenly at her desk with a bark of her name. He glanced between the two of them and frowned. “Cuddle on your own time,” he said. Steve rolled his eyes and stood to lean against Darcy’s desk as Driscoll continued. “Rogers, your team’s suiting up and rolling out in fifteen.”

Darcy’s heart clenched a thick current of fear shot through her. “Fifteen minutes?” she echoed weakly.

“Fifteen minutes,” he repeated. “We’re rolling in twenty,” he said, motioning between her and himself.

She felt her eyebrows lift. “We?”

Her lieutenant rolled his eyes. “You honestly think I trust you not to stowaway on the undercarriage of the bus if I tell you not to come?” He shook his head. “Plus,” he added, “something tells me you’re going to be less of a pain in my ass if I let you see this through to the end. In fact,” he turned and started walking back toward his office, calling over his shoulder, “I’m counting on it.”

Her knees felt inconveniently unstable when she got to her feet. She looked at Steve and offered a quick, brave smile. “Guess we should suit up.”

“Darcy—” he grabbed her arm as she went to turn away and she felt her heart sink. Steve’s throat bobbed with a hard swallow and, for the first time in a long time, Darcy let herself notice how scared he was. “I don’t…” he stopped and shook his head. “I don’t want you to go.”

He’d never said that to her before. And she knew, if it had come from someone else, she would have taken it as a challenge, an order she had every intention of ignoring. But Steve hadn’t said it as an order. It was a confession. Almost whispered, like he was embarrassed to admit it.

She pursed her lips and ran her hands up his arms, letting her fingers drift up to hold his face gently. “I don’t want you to go, either,” she admitted. “And I don’t want you to do anything stupid if this shit goes sideways, alright?”

The corners of his lips tugged at a grin. “Well, you know me.”

She swallowed down the lump in her throat and rose up on her toes to brush her lips to his. A quick kiss. The kind she gave him when she was running late, or he was going for a run. Not the kind that begged him to stay safe and made him promise to come back to her. Her hands dropped to his chest and she forced another smile. “No matter what happens,” she raised her eyebrows invitingly. “We’ve earned a soft pretzel after this.”

Steve laughed and broke the tension mounting between them. “Hell yeah, we have,” he agreed. “The good kind,” he added, “from that place on 39th.”

“With spicy mustard,” she added.

Steve grinned. “Only the best for my girl.”

 

They left while she was getting into her vest and finding a helmet that would fit her head. Darcy was glad she didn’t have to watch him leave. She wouldn’t have trusted herself not to chase after him and give him the kind of kiss he deserved.

“Front and back, Lewis,” Hutchinson said, breaking her from her reverie. He handed her two steel plates on his way past to grab a vest of his own.

She frowned. “I thought you’d be with your own guys,” she admitted, pointing in the direction they’d filed out minutes before the Avengers.

“We’re all heading to the same place,” he reminded, grabbing a vest from the pile and slipping it on with ease. He pulled the straps tight across his chest and jammed the chest plate in its rightful pocket. Without preamble, he motioned for Darcy to turn around so they could pocket their back plates for each other.

She let him, trying not to remember that the last time she’d worn Kevlar was the last time Eddie had told her a joke. And the last time she’d seen Mulligan alive.

“Let’s roll, rookie,” he said, giving her a tap on the shoulder when he was finished helping her.

Darcy grabbed adjusted her vest and double-checked her service pistol before she glanced up with a grin. “You know, I thought for sure you were going to hit me with ‘lock and load’.”

To her surprise, Hutchinson grinned beneath his mustache. “The night’s still young.”

 

***

The subway tunnels of the New York City transit authority were exactly as charming as Darcy assumed they’d be. There had been brief talk about halting cars along their route that had been quickly tossed out for fear of tipping off their targets.

So instead, they prowled along the tracks, jumping to hug the walls each time the rails rattled. Leaders were on coms, but the rest of Darcy’s team was silent but for the crunching of boots against gravel. Their weapons were ready, but not drawn and no headlamps or flashlights without the go-ahead from the man at the head of the group.

 

Darcy kept her eyes up, not wanting to know what she was wading through or have to look at the dog-sized rats that brazenly wandered across her shoes. Her heart thudded in her ears so loudly she was certain everyone could hear it. She kept swallowing down her urge to vomit, kept telling herself that this would all be over soon.

She wasn’t surprised when she glanced to her left and caught the concerned expression of Detective DeSimone. “You okay?” he asked, his voice just low enough for her to pick it up.

Not remotely okay, Darcy nodded and forced a smile. “I didn’t know what I was missing,” she joked softly. “Riding _inside_ the trains all these years.”

He smiled back and nodded to the officers around them. “Just wanted to tell you,” he said, his voice just below a whisper, “y’know—in case we all blow up or get eaten or something—everyone knows how much work you and Barnes put into this. Kimball, too,” he added thoughtfully. “Don’t let the feds or Driscoll make you think this was their win.”

She pursed her lips and smothered down a smile with her nod. “Thanks, Des,” she said sincerely.

He nodded and the knot in her stomach had time to relax for exactly three seconds before Driscoll raised his fist and motioned for them to stop and gear up.

She’d barely grabbed her gun when the tunnel wall ahead of her team exploded and the tense silence erupted in a firefight.

 


	15. Fifteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "So we kinda created our own monster on this one, huh?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I took SO many liberties with this one, my loves. Just making shit up left and right. Apologies if anyone knows better and is offended by my ignorance--I write this for fun and I have a compulsive need to wrap everything up with a big red bow.

It felt like years, but everyone assured her the actual firefight and takedown only lasted about thirty minutes. When the smoke cleared, twenty-six members of the Hounds of Havoc were in custody, one federal agent was dead and seven more injured between the two teams.

There was no time for celebration in what remained of the City Hall station, though. No time to make sure Steve was okay or show him that she had miraculously made it through with only a bullet-grazed arm and a black eye from a wild swing of the only guy she’d been able to help Driscoll apprehend. There was only time for a quick headcount as they were herded out to give Tony, Bucky, and the bomb squad room to diffuse the device they’d been after.

With the device itself still active, the remaining Avengers had stayed behind to attempt containment of a potential blast. Or, at the very least, strategize a way to minimize casualties.

It wasn’t any of the options they had projected, but a hybrid of three different designs. A combination of microwaves and nuclear energy. Capable, Darcy would learn later, of disrupting and demolishing the city’s power grid while simultaneously leaching radiation into the water supply. Ensuring a slow, painful execution of the entire city, one way or another.

Impressive, she heard one of the DHS agents say. Horrific and disgusting, but impressive.

Darcy almost couldn’t believe that she was back in the bullpen, watching Jozelyn Rodriguez sanitize her arm for her. The holding cells in the basement were nearing capacity, Rodriguez informed her, her curly black hair brushing Darcy’s forearm as she leaned in to apply a second bandage to the wound just below her shoulder. “You should probably get this looked at when we’re all done drowning in paperwork,” she said in her usual gruff tone.

She shrugged, still mostly numb to everything that had transpired in the last twenty-four hours before she frowned. “Wait, you’re not doing paperwork on all _this_ shit,” she motioned to the chaotic environment and in the direction of the holding cells. “Are you?”

Jozelyn scoffed. “What? You think DHS is going to do it? Nowicki put us all on high-alert right after you guys left and approved our overtime.” She smiled. “Christmas is coming,” she reminded her. “And since we’re not all going to melt into the river or whatever, I gotta pay down my credit cards.”

Despite everything, Darcy grinned. “Yeah, I should probably do that too.”

The smile slipped from Joz’s lips as she crumpled the paper wrappings from her first aid materials. “Hey, when all this is over, I wanna follow up on your missing person.”

She tilted her head. “My missing--” she cut herself off as the memory returned. “Kalila Greene? What’s vice doing with her case?”

Rodriguez grimaced. “Her disappearance might be connected to a guy we’ve been chasing for the last six months.”

Darcy frowned. “You think she’s still alive?”

“If she’s not connected to my guy?” Rodriguez shrugged. “Maybe. But I don’t think she’s a runaway and there’s no body yet.”

The word yet sat heavy between them before Darcy sighed. “I can give you a hand if you need it,” she said after a moment. “I’m pretty sure I’m going to be riding the desk for a few weeks.”

“I’ll take it,” Jozelyn said, narrowing her eyes at Darcy’s injuries. “And you should take a low-key assignment if it comes your way,” she added. “Give that a chance to heal.”

“I’m sure it’s fine,” Darcy waved the concern away and glanced at the blood that had already started to dry. She went to push her hair out of her face. Her hand bumped into her cheekbone and she sucked a wince through her teeth.

Rodriguez shrugged back and a half-smile played on her lips. “Can’t do anything about your face, Lewis.”

Darcy sighed. “Well, it could be worse.”

“Yeah,” the vice detective nodded in the direction of the elevators. “You could look like _him_.”

Darcy frowned and turned to follow Joz’s gaze, surprised to see Agent Hutchinson making his way toward her desk. He looked considerably worse than she did. The skin on the bridge of his nose was torn and dark with dried blood. His right eye was almost swollen shut and the dark purple and red around the socket made her wonder if his cheekbone had been broken.

Rodriguez got to her feet and offered her fist to tap against Darcy’s before she left without a word. Not waiting for an invitation, Hutchinson dropped down into her empty chair.

“You look like hell,” she said bluntly.

“I’m aware,” he grimaced.

“What happened to your face?” she asked, unable to contain her curiosity. “It looks like somebody cold-cocked you.”

“Not exactly,” he grumbled and reached for the ice pack she wasn’t using. “More like I took two hundred pounds of muscle behind a metal arm to the face.”

Darcy paused before her eyes went wide. “ _Bucky_ did that to you?” 

Hutchinson nodded. “Could’ve been a bullet, so I’ll deal with the bruise.” He glanced up and caught her confusion before he continued. “Someone took a shot at me,” he clarified. “Would’ve been right to the killzone if Barnes hadn’t blocked it with his arm.”

She let that sink in for a second before she smiled. “Ain’t that just like a super-dangerous, brainwashed assassin.” He met her comment with a roll of his eyes that followed with a groan of discomfort. “Did you say thank you? I can tell you his favorite kind of candy if you want to send a gift basket. It’s Swedish Fish.” She paused with another smile before she continued. “So what’s up, G-man? You come to see me just to show me your battle scars?”

“No,” he unslumped with another deep whine and set the ice pack down. “I came to see if you wanted to sit in on the interrogation.”

She felt her expression lift in surprise. “Seriously?”

“Sit in,” he repeated firmly. “Quietly. As in, observe and speak when spoken to or not at all. We’re not gonna play Good Cop/Bad Cop.”

She smiled. “Well, with that face of yours, I’d have no choice but to be Good Cop and that’s just no fun.”

Hutch got to his feet. “Yes or no, Lewis?”

“Yes,” she said quickly and got up too fast, her body suddenly all too aware of the beating it had taken in the last month. “Yes, of course.”

“Good,” he nodded. “Cause you’re going to have to lock down this Griffin connection before we go any further.”

 

 

***

 

 

Darcy had lost track of how many hours she’d been awake by the time they finally shuffled into the interrogation room. She glanced around as Driscoll and Hutchinson took the two chairs, leaving her to lean against the wall without the two-way mirror, and realized that this was where she’d interrogated Bucky. 

The suspect they shuffled in to cuff across the table from her COs wasn’t the criminal mastermind Darcy had been expecting. He couldn’t have been more than eighteen, with shaggy dark hair and almost violently pale skin. He squinted in the fluorescent lights and was silent as his restraints were clicked into place.

Driscoll cleared his throat and clicked his pen into action. “State your full name for the record, please.”

“Fuck you.”

Her lieutenant reached for his blank notepad and pressed his pen to the page. “Is that with an ‘F’ or a ‘PH’?” he asked casually.

Hutchinson’s mustache twitched with a quick smile before he folded his hands on the table. “Look, we’ll figure out your name one way or the other,” he said with a motion to the black stains on the boy’s fingertips. “And honestly, I don’t care what your name is.”

“Cool,” the suspect muttered. “Then can I get out of here?”

“Not quite,” Hutch assured him. “Your comrade, Jay? He told us you’re the chemistry nerd of your little unit.” Darcy willed her face not to change as she wondered how Hutchinson had gotten a hold of that information.

The suspect scoffed. “Justin’s just trying to save his own ass. He doesn’t know anything.”

“From what?” Driscoll asked, sounding almost amused. “You’re all getting painted with the same brush, buddy.”

“I’m not your buddy,” the boy stated quickly, firmly. “You want information, you call that fucking cook up here and squeeze it out of him.”

There was a heavy moment of silence before Hutchinson sat back in his chair and crossed his arms. “So is this your official statement? That you’re not willing to cooperate?”

“You can suck my official statement.”

Unfazed, Hutchinson nodded as Driscoll motioned to the officer at the door. “Enjoy your time in prison, sweetheart.”

“You think you’re winning in all this?” Their suspect asked as he was unshackled from the table. “All you’re doing is delaying the inevitable.”

“Delaying the inevitable,” Hutchinson said with an almost cheeky salute in the suspect’s direction. “Got it.”

Both men at the table turned to face Darcy as soon as the door slammed shut. “Alright, Lewis,” Driscoll said, his eyebrows lifted expectantly. “If this was your investigation, what would you have taken from that?”

She frowned and her head slid back an inch in surprise. “Uh...” she forced her mind not to blank under pressure. “Cook,” she blurted out the only word that had stuck in her mind.

“Weird adjective,” Driscoll agreed with a slow nod. “Unless of course...”

“Unless you know he can cook more than HYDRA drugs?” She followed her thought to its conclusion. “If it was me, I’d run their prints for anyone with a history of meth?”

They glanced at each other before Hutch nodded. “Not the worst idea I’ve ever heard.”

She fought back a proud smile before she frowned. “Did you know one of them was named Jay before you brought that guy in here?”

It was Agent Hutchinson’s turn to fight a self-satisfied smile. “Average age of that pack of mole rats downstairs is twenty-three,” he said with a half-shrug. “There’s always somebody who goes by Jay.”

The second man they brought up from the holding cells hours later was skinnier than the first. Though his skin was as pale as his squadmate, the man--Justin Sheppard, according to AFIS--was even more haunting with almost white blond hair and bloodshot, watery blue eyes.

“You've had a colorful life, Mr. Sheppard,” Driscoll commented mildly, perusing the record he'd sent Darcy to the printer for while they waited for him to be brought up. “Harassment, possession, assault,” he shook his head and closed the file. “And then, suddenly, two years ago,” he looked up at his suspect. “You go straight. Not a peep. Model behavior according to your parole officer. What happened? Find Jesus? Start meditating?”

“I found that I wasn't alone,” Justin said slowly, deliberately. His voice was low, deeper than Darcy would have expected. “I found a place to channel my rage among the hounds.”

“Ah, option C,” Hutchinson added cheerfully. “You joined a cult.”

“It's not a cult,” he spat. “It's ushering in a new age of survival.”

“Well, no,” Driscoll shook his head again. “If anything, it was ushering in an _old_ way of survival, right? Wasn't that the plan? To send us all back to the stone age?” Not that it matter now,” he added as an afterthought. “Since we’re all still here and your little doomsday device is being dismantled as we speak.”

“You’ll all face the inevitable decline of civilization eventually,” Justin countered. “These precious institutions you hide behind will be meaningless once society crumbles. There will only be room for the warriors and those--”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Driscoll cut him off with an irritated wave of his hand. “Enough. All the monologuing in the world isn’t going to save you from life in prison, warrior princess, but my officer has a question for you that might give you the possibility of parole in thirty years.”

Darcy took his glance back at her as her cue and willed her nerves to settle. Driscoll got up as she approached the table and set her file folder in front of her. “I’m Officer Darcy Lewis,” she said politely and took her seat.

“I know who you are,” Justin said, his voice still low and his eyes not quite meeting hers. “You’re the girl who’s fucking Captain America.”

“That’s what it says on my business cards, actually. Good call.” She flipped open the file and offered him a brief smile as she removed two sheets of paper, each containing a different chemical breakdown. “I’ve pieced it together best I can how your unit infiltrated all the groups you’d need to control or influence to pull this off,” she began carefully. “And I know that Jared Griffin was on to you, right around this time last year. He’d broken through your dark web firewall and found your manifesto and was just about to figure out how to find you and shut you down, which is why you killed his wife and made him look like he did it.”

“I never killed anyone--” Justin said, his expression betraying just a flicker of fear.

Darcy latched onto that flicker and held up a hand. “You did, actually,” she assured him. “Because, as my LT said earlier to your buddy, you’re all getting painted with the same, first-degree murder brush. It doesn’t actually matter who put that knife to Kathryn Griffin’s throat. You’re all equally guilty.” She waited a long, measured breath before she continued. “So if you ever want the chance to wear something other than a gray jumpsuit and slip on shoes, you’re going to tell me which of these cocktails you cooked up to give to Jared Griffin at that fundraiser on the night of January 20th. Because I know you were the one who made it and there’s only two options from the HYDRA data dump that can wipe a person’s memory for 24 hours.”

Another heavy silence descended on the room as Justin stared at the papers in front of him. Hutchinson waited just one beat longer before he coughed and motioned to the uniform at the door. “That’s fine, we’ve got all the time in the world, now. One of you puppy dogs will give us what we want eventually.” He shrugged. “I didn’t really want you to be the one who got the sweetheart deal of a reduced sentence anyway.”

“That one,” Justin said quickly, motioning to the formula on the right with his chin as his escort approached.

Darcy raised her eyebrows. “This one?” she held it up. “This is the one your team concocted to drug Jared Griffin and set him up for murder?” When he nodded, she shook her head. “I need to hear you say it, Justin,” she said. “I need you to tell me what you did, specifically.”

The officer let go of Justin’s arm and let him sit back all the way down. “I didn’t follow that formula to the letter,” he said, unaware that this much of a simple confession was enough to raise the hair on the back of Darcy’s neck. “And I don’t know where all that shit came from, either, okay? It just got uploaded to the server. Most of us never knew who was sending it.”

Darcy tapped the paper again. “Focus, Justin. Keep going.” She knew that what they had was already likely enough to exonerate Griffin, but she wanted more, just to be safe. “Did they recruit you because you’re a cook?”

He nodded and pursed his thin lips together. “But look, I don’t cook meth anymore. I just tweaked this recipe to make it what they wanted.”

“Which was?” Hutch prompted, his voice having lost some of its derision from earlier.

“With this,” he nodded to the page again, “there were a bunch of notes about how it wasn’t 100% effective. They used it on the Winter Soldier,” he said haltingly. “But after awhile they had to switch to electric shocks because his memories kept resurfacing.” Darcy did her best to settle the hot coil of rage that curled deep in her stomach at the reminder of what Bucky had been through. “But we had to make sure this was a clean black out, so I cut fentanyl with ketamine and ditched the morphine element all together.”

She felt her eyes widen. “You cut fentanyl with ketamine?” she repeated. “I don’t know how you didn’t kill him.”

He almost looked offended. “I knew what I was doing,” he said before he continued. “And that’s all I did, okay? I just gave it to Rob and he was supposed to put it in Griffin’s food. I wasn’t even there that night.”

To her right, Hutch leaned forward. “But you knew that was the plan, right? That Rob and whoever else were going to follow Griffin home and make it look like he murdered his wife?”

Justin’s skinny throat bobbed with a hard swallow. “I didn’t...” he paused and looked all the way down at the table again. “I thought they were going to shoot her or something,” he said finally. “I didn’t know they were going to...”

“Brutalize her,” Darcy finished for him, telling herself she didn’t need to feel sorry for the boy in front of her. That he was just as guilty as the men who’d done the killing. That he’d wanted to burn the city down just as much as the rest of his group in the holding cells. “They didn’t just kill her, Justin. They butchered her.”

“I know,” he said softly. “I saw the papers.”

“And when you say Rob,” Driscoll spoke up from behind them. “Are you talking about Robbie Apollo?”

Justin nodded again. “He’s not--” he stopped himself and appeared to be choosing his words carefully. “I mean, he’s not the boss or anything. This wasn’t all his idea. He just had all the right connections. His brothers set him up...with this job. He recruited the rest of us, online and stuff, but he said his brothers were the ones who got the ball rolling.”

“And you don’t know who the boss is?” Darcy asked. “You don’t know where the money and the orders were coming from?”

He shook his head again. “They just said it was from Harriet.”

Hutchinson motioned for the officer again. This time Justin didn’t stop him as he unlatched him from the table. “Thank you for your cooperation,” he said, sounding sincere. “I’ll make sure the DA knows about it.” 

Justin’s watery blue eyes went wide again at the mention of the consequences of his actions. “You think...I mean...you don’t think there’s any way of keeping me out of prison?” he asked, his voice weaker than before. “I mean, I just mixed the stuff. I didn’t...”

“Oh, honey,” Darcy got to her feet when he did and shook her head. “You’re _totally_ going to prison. But you know,” she smiled. “The man you just helped exonerate? His main passion project is prison reform. So who knows? Maybe once he gets back to work, it won’t be all that bad for you.”

 

 

***

 

 

There were no protests the day Jared Griffin walked out of prison a free man.

Darcy watched on the small television in Eddie’s hospital room as he stepped up to the microphone stand and cleared his throat. “I just want to take a minute to thank my friend, Calvin Harper, and his legal team that continue to work to ensure that justice is being served for my wife. And for the tireless work of the NYPD in apprehending the men and women responsible--not just for my case--but for the unspeakable acts of violence and terrorism committed against our city in recent months. On behalf of myself and my children, I’m grateful for your service and I look forward to returning to work to make this city a thriving example of the American dream.”

From her chair next to Eddie, Becca raised her eyebrows. “He could’ve at least given you a shoutout,” she commented with a shake of her head. “Instead of lumping you in with the guys who actually arrested him and thought he did it.”

Darcy laughed and shifted Winnie higher up on her chest, trying not to disturb her sleep. “Don’t worry,” she assured her friend. “I’m waiting for a big, fat, IOU to cash in on later.” Her phone started to buzz as Becca snorted a laugh. Carefully, she pulled it from her pocket and held it to her ear. “What’s up, Sarge?” she asked quietly.

“Lewis,” Nowicki paused. “Wait--are you at the library or something?”

She grinned. “No, I’m at the hospital with the Kimball-Moore collective,” she said, still whispering. “And I’ve got a super cute baby sleeping on my chest right now. What’s up?”

“Oh,” she heard him stop and the smile that crept into his voice. “I can make it quick. We found Harriet Williams.”

“Holy shit,” she said before she glanced down at Winnie and winced an apology at her language. Becca rolled her eyes with another smile and extended her hands, beckoning for her daughter. “Are you serious?” Darcy asked, clumsily pulling herself to her feet with the phone wedged between her ear and her shoulder to keep both hands on the baby.

Winnie barely stirred when she was returned to Becca’s arms. “Your friend Natasha made a delivery this morning,” Nowicki continued as Darcy crept into the hallway to be able to speak at a normal volume. “Harriet Jean Williams is an anagram for Jillian Warthee Maris.”

Darcy frowned. “Jillian Maris...” she repeated slowly, drawing a blank. “Should that sound familiar?”

“She’s ex-CIA,” he said. “One of the US’ top undercover operatives in Afghanistan in the Cold War.”

“That...doesn’t sound good,” Darcy decided, eyebrows still furrowed.

“It’s not,” he assured her. “She left the agency in ‘89 and dropped off the radar. Official word was that she went ex-pat to Europe and kind of washed her hands after she saw how we handled the clean-up in the Middle East.”

“Okay...”

“But she didn’t,” Nowicki continued. “According to what Romanov dug up, she made a shit-ton of money working with some of the Mujahideen that were bankrolled by the opiate trade and has been funding anti-American operations all around the world for the last thirty years.”

Darcy dropped into the nearest chair. “Holy. Shit.”

“That’s putting it lightly.”

“I...kind of can’t believe this,” she said finally. “Where is she? Is DHS taking point? Do we have any leads on how to find her?”

“We already found her, Lewis,” the sergeant said, the smile back in his voice. “Stark tracked the money she was funnelling into Apollo through a whole bunch of dummy accounts and false IPs until they made a breakthrough this morning. She was undercover in Baltimore. Living under the name Jacqueline Riggs in a shithole apartment. Totally under the radar.”

“And where is she now?”

“She’s in federal custody,” Nowicki said confidently. “She’s closer to the pentagon than us at this point so she’s out of our hands.”

“Wow,” Darcy sat back in her chair. “So we kind of created our own monster with this one, huh? Well,” she clarified. “Not me. I had nothing to do with covert ops in Afghanistan. I was four.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Nowicki scoffed. “Boomers ruined everything. That’s the moral here.”

“That’s always the moral, Sarge.”

“Darcy!” Becca’s voice rang from the next room. “Darcy, get the doctor!”

Darcy’s heart froze and the phone almost slipped from her hand. “I gotta go,” she said and took off for the nurse’s station without another word. She wrangled two nurses and the nearest doctor to follow her back down to Eddie’s room. She let them go ahead of her, preparing herself for the worst. For crashing vitals and long, horribly drawn out tones of silent hearts on monitors. For Becca’s inevitable breakdown and wondering who was going to break the news to Shawn.

Selfishly, she stayed outside while the professionals rushed in. Her eyes squeezed shut and her heart lodged high in her throat. Frozen in place until she was able to pick up the doctor’s voice from above the frantic din. “Mr. Kimball, can you focus your eyes on me?”

Darcy froze a second time, not trusting herself to have heard her right. She steeled herself and forced her feet to take her inside.

The doctor was bent close to Eddie, her pen light flashing in his eyes.

His open eyes.

His hands were clenched in tense fists, gripping his blankets. “It’s okay,” the doctor was saying. “You’re alright, Mr. Kimball. You’re in the hospital. Deep breaths,” she said firmly, taking several deep inhales through her nose until he followed and began to calm down. “I’m going to remove this intubation tube,” she continued. “It’s probably going to hurt a bit and you’re going to have a sore throat for a couple of days. Sound manageable?”

Darcy wanted to pinch herself as she watched Eddie nod slowly, not taking his eyes off the doctor.

“I’m going to count to three,” the doctor said as Becca appeared at Darcy’s side and reached for her hand. Winnie was pressed to her chest, blinking and looking around curiously. “On two, I want you to take a deep breath in and on three, push it out as hard as you can, okay?”

They got rid of his breathing tube and helped him sit all the way up. One of the nurses went for a cup of ice chips while the doctor and other nurse quickly logged vitals, reflexes and responses. The doctor glanced over her shoulder, noting Becca’s wide and frantic eyes, the restraint she was exercising to stay in the corner of the room, watching everything with baited breath.

“Please,” the small Asian woman smiled kindly and motioned for them to approach. “I can wait; I’ll give you a few minutes.”

“I’ll hold her,” Darcy said quietly, taking Winnie back before Becca could protest. Her eyes stung with tears as she watched Becca huff out a deep breath and cross the small room on unsteady legs. Hesitantly, she sat on the edge of the bed and reached a hand out to his face.

“Hey,” he said hoarsely, leaning subtly into her touch.

Tears crashed over Becca’s luminous dark eyes and cut glistening streaks down her cheeks. “Hey,” she managed weakly before she leaned in and wrapped her arms around him, holding him as close as she could. Her shoulders shook the longer she held him, her hands moving frantically from his shoulders to his back to the back of his bandaged head as if trying to assure herself by touch that he was real and still with her. “I missed you so much,” Darcy heard Becca whisper as Eddie’s arms came up slowly to hold her in place.

“How long was I...”

“Five weeks,” Becca said against his shoulder. “Five weeks and three days.”

“The--the bridge,” he said slowly, memories dawning on his expression. “Is everybody okay?”

“Don’t worry about it right now,” Darcy said from the corner. “I’ll fill you in later.”

At the sound of her voice, Eddie’s head moved in her direction. He offered a tired smile before his eyes went wide at the sight of Winnie.

“Bec,” he asked, trying to clear his painful, scratchy throat. “Is that...”

Becca finally let him go and looked back over her shoulder. “Oh my God,” she let out a wet laugh and got back up to scurry back over to Darcy. “I almost forgot she was here.”

Darcy trailed behind and sat on the opposite side of Eddie’s bed, down by his feet. She made a futile swipe at her eyes as Becca held Winnie and wedged herself in close so they could look at her together. Another lump rose in her throat at the soft smile playing on her best friend’s lips and the way he blinked faster the longer he looked at his daughter.

“So this is our girl,” he said, his voice softer than before and more reverent than she’d ever heard it.

“Oh,” Becca sniffled and shook her head. “No, ours was really ugly so I swapped her for this one instead.”

Darcy snorted a laugh that shattered the moment and she clapped a hand to her mouth as Eddie joined in and pressed a kiss to Becca’s head. He reached out a tentative hand to brush along the baby’s face before he glanced up and met Darcy’s eyes for the first time. “You catch the bad guys, Lewis?”

She swallowed hard. “No way,” she shook her head. “ _We_ caught the bad guys, partner.” She waited for him to smile and continued. “You saved the day again. Couldn’t have done it without you.” She gave his knee a pat before she added, “I would love to keep doing this _with_ you though, so if you could stop landing in the ICU, I’d super appreciate it.”

“I’m voicing my support for that idea,” Becca said softly, leaning her head against his shoulder.

Eddie smirked as the doctor and nurses returned to the room. “Nah,” he shook his head. “These motherfuckers keep trying to kill me on the job. I’m gonna live forever just to piss ‘em off.”

 

 

***

 

It was a week later, and the first full day Darcy had spent not working in four months, that there was a knock at the door. The urge to ignore it was strong and she curled a little tighter into Steve’s side, under the blanket they were sharing while they watched a baking competition on the Food Network.

She glanced up and shared a look of confusion with Steve. “Are you expecting anyone?” she asked, reluctant to get up from the little cocoon she’d built for the two of them. Steve shook his head and glanced across the room where Bucky had been reading for most of the morning. He shrugged and shook his head. 

The second series of knocks were shorter and sounded slightly more insistent. Darcy sighed and threw off the blanket. She couldn’t help her heavy sigh as she peered through the peephole and undid the locks and deadbolt. “Oh my God,” she groaned, pulling open the door to reveal Agent Hutchinson. “Why are you so obsessed with me?”

He rolled his eyes as she stepped aside to let him in. “Don’t flatter yourself, Officer Lewis. I’m here to see him,” he shifted the manilla envelope to one hand and motioned to Bucky with the other.

It was Bucky’s turn to groan as he got to his feet. “Oh my God, why are you so obsessed with _me_?” he echoed with a half-smile.

“You two are adorable,” Hutchinson said flatly before he acknowledged Steve, who hadn’t gotten up yet. “Captain.”

“Agent,” Steve nodded and shut off the television. “How can we help you?”

“Just something for Barnes,” he said and shifted his weight from one foot to another.

“Aw,” Darcy closed the door behind him and smiled as her head tipped to one side. “He brought you a present,” she said to Bucky, hoping to keep him at ease, despite the presence of the feds in their apartment.

Bucky looked hesitant as he accepted the folder from Hutchinson. “We gettin’ engaged, Agent?” he asked as he unwound the red string from the back of the envelope.

Hutchinson’s mustache twitched with a smile. “If we were getting engaged, I probably would’ve sprung for a nicer box.”

Bucky’s brow furrowed deeper as he sat down on the couch and slid the contents of the envelope onto the coffee table. A US passport, a birth certificate, driver’s license, high school and college diplomas and a social security card. “What the hell is this?” he asked, looking up in confusion.

“Uh, it’s you,” Hutch said, shifting his weight again. “If you want it.”

Bucky blinked and reached first for the passport and flipped it open, surprised to find a photo of himself. He looked at the page. “James Bucalo Everett?” he asked, glancing back up for a second before he carefully sifted through the materials and Darcy noticed the same name on every piece of documentation.

“You can still go by Bucky, if you want,” Hutchinson said, looking almost nervous as he watched Bucky examine the papers in front of him. “I uh,” he coughed and glanced down at his shoes. “I called in a favor with a buddy of mine at Witness Protection. School and medical records’ll take another week, but he’s thorough,” he shrugged. “You shouldn’t have any problems using any of this.”

“I don’t...” Bucky stopped and frowned. “I, um...”

“Everything on your record says you’re a hundred years old,” Hutchinson continued, matter-of-fact. “And what doesn’t say you’re dead says you’re one of the most deadly individuals in the world.” He shrugged again. “James Everett doesn’t have that kinda baggage. I thought it might make transitioning back into civilian life a little easier on you. If you ever want to, I don’t know, pass a credit screen or get your own apartment, at least you won’t have to worry about the background check.”

Darcy watched Bucky absorb this news slowly, digesting it piece by piece before his throat bobbed with a swallow. “I--um. Thank,” he cleared his throat and stood up to offer Hutch a handshake. “Thank you,” he said sincerely. “You didn’t have to do that.”

They shook hands and Darcy could have sworn the federal agent looked almost bashful as his shoulders moved again. “You didn’t have to block that bullet for me,” he reminded. “But I figure, a life for a life. We’re square now.”

Bucky nodded and they dropped their hands. “I guess we are.”

Hutchinson coughed and shuffled again. “Well, that’s all I had so I’m gonna get out of here.”

“You can hang out,” Darcy heard herself say before she could stop it. “There’s plenty of Great British Baking to go around.”

To her relief--especially after the look of confusion Steve shot her at her suggestion--Hutchinson shook his head. “Uh, no thanks. That sounds...horrible.”

“Don’t knock it ‘til you’ve tried it,” she said and reached for the door. “But I’ll walk you out.” They descended the two flights of stairs in silence and she paused at the bottom to last step while the agent zipped up his coat. “Thanks,” she said, summoning her nerve once more. “For what you did for Bucky. That’s--uh--surprisingly cool of you.”

Hutchinson nodded and extended his hand again. “Take care of yourself, Officer Lewis,” he said, waiting for her to accept his handshake. “Keep your head down--you just might make a decent detective someday.”

Darcy tightened her grip on his palm and mirrored his nod. “And one almost-compliment to another, you just might be a good-looking guy if you shaved that caterpillar off your face.”

To her surprise, he laughed. Loud and deep and nothing like she was expecting. “Yeah, well,” he reached for the front door. “My wife likes it.” 

Darcy held it open for him. “I promise you,” she quipped with a grin, “she doesn’t.”

He was still chuckling as she watched him descend the stoop to the sidewalk. She was about to turn to head back upstairs when she saw him stop and pat at his pockets before he turned and raced up the stoop again. “Almost forgot,” he said when she opened the door, confused. He reached into his pocket and dropped a small, folded-over paper bag into her hand. “Take care, Lewis.”

Darcy waited until he was safely on the sidewalk before she opened the bag and looked inside.  A grin split across her face as she returned to her apartment and dropped the bag of Swedish Fish on the table for Bucky.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Couple of notes: 
> 
> 1.) Bucky's new name is an homage to two men: One, Joseph Bucalo, a vet in my neighborhood and a POW for two years in WW2 in Japan, and Everett Alvarez, who was a POW in the Vietnam conflict for 8 and half years. His internment is considered one of the longest in US armed forces history. Both men survived unspeakable horrors and torment and deserve to have their names known. 
> 
> 2.) You get a gold star if you know when Jillian Maris first appeared in this fic.
> 
> 3.) The epilogue will be in two parts because they're both equally important but really don't go together at all. 
> 
> 4.) We're almost done! Tell me what you've thought so far!


	16. Sixteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Epilogue part one

The air bit sharper this high up. It wasn’t quite winter yet. The city had started wrapping itself up for Christmas, but Thanksgiving was still a few days away. The days had turned grey again and everyone kept checking the weather, checking the sky, wondering when the rain would give way to snow. The wind pricked his skin and stung his eyes and threatened to extinguish his cigarette with every gust. But Bucky didn’t mind.

He’d certainly felt colder.

From the rooftop of the tower, all the cars and buses were indistinguishable dots of light. The people bustling and choking the sidewalks were all but invisible from his vantage point. He knew they were there--it didn’t matter if he could see them.

Much like his companion.

Bucky took another drag from his cigarette. “Haven’t you spent enough time lurking in the shadows, Natalia?”

She was silent as she crossed the small space to stand next to him. She leaned her back against the railing and stuffed her hands in the pocket of her coat. Her breath clouded in front of her as she offered him a smile. “I could say the same to you.”

“I’m not lurking,” he reminded. “I’m smoking.” He stamped out the glowing end of the cigarette and flicked it away. “And I’m trying to quit.”

Silence slithered between them as Natasha turned around and faced the city. From the corner of his eye, he could see that her hands were bare and he couldn’t help but wonder if they were cold. He forced himself to look back at the city. To not think about how easy it would be to reach across the railing and grasp both of her hands in one of his. To pull her close and warm her up with his body.

“So, what now?”

Her question startled his attention away from the fixed point on the horizon he’d settled on. He glanced sideways. “What now?”

She stood up a little straighter. “I heard about your shiny new identity,” she said, easing his momentary panic that she was asking about them and not just him. “Quite the get-out-of-jail-free card.”

He shrugged, unsure of where she was going with this. “I guess.”

Another long, heavy silence before finally, “What are you going to do with it?”

Again, he felt taken off-guard. He waited, choosing his words carefully, trying to suss out the meaning behind her words. He didn’t trust himself to look at her any longer and returned his gaze to the city. “I don’t know,” he said honestly. “I...haven’t really thought about what life might be like if I wasn’t on the run.”

“Yeah, it’s a big adjustment,” she said casually. “I mean, I’m a lifer,” she glanced back toward the tower where he knew she’d been working all day with Sam on what might be left of Jillian Maris’ legacy. “But you,” he felt her eyes on him. “You could do anything you want now.”

“I guess that’s true,” he said, realizing that he hadn’t even considered what Agent Hutchinson’s gift could actually mean for the next part of his life.

He’d taken it at face value. He’d done normal things for a few weeks like open a bank account for the first time since 1935 and bought things on Amazon with his own debit card and registered to vote in New York. He hadn’t thought about what else he could do.

“I’m serious,” Her lips curved into that half-smile they’d never been able to purge from his memory. “You could buy a ranch in Montana and teach biology at the local high school or go ride camels with tourists in Abu-Dhabi...”

He nodded, the tension in his chest began to relax. “I could open a karaoke bar in Fort Lauderdale,” he suggested, liking too much how she laughed at his serious tone.

“You’d have to wear Hawaiian shirts, though,” she added quickly.

“And own wicker furniture,” he countered.

“Ooh, and do Zumba and Jazzercise with all the old biddies at the community center,” she said with another giggle, turning to face him.

“You think they’d hit on me?” he asked, letting his smile broaden at the idea.

“I guarantee it,” she laughed.

“That doesn’t sound too bad, actually,” he mused. “I could find someone my own age.”

Natasha snorted and dropped her head. A thick lock of red hair fell into her face; she didn’t push it back when she looked back up. “Or you could...” she stopped and her smile dropped away. She looked back down again and for the first time in as long as he could remember, she looked nervous.

His chest tightened again. “I could what?” he asked softly, hoping she’d be braver than he felt. That she’d give him a sign of what she wanted.

“Stay?”

The word was so soft, so uncertain, Bucky wasn’t sure that if he hadn’t been looking at her as it slipped past her lips, he would have heard it at all.

His mouth ran dry and he forced himself to take a deep breath. “Do you...want me to stay, Natalia?”

She didn’t answer. Instead, she leaned forward and pressed her lips to his. Her kiss was soft, tentative. Shy.

Bucky felt like someone had restarted his heart.

She went to pull away, slow enough to give him the chance to reciprocate if he wanted to. He slid his hands into her hair and held her close, deepening the kiss. Bucky could have sworn he felt her smile against his lips as she wound her arms around his neck and fit herself against him.

He didn’t know how long they stayed like that, but it felt too soon when she pulled away, breathless, and bit her lip, glancing down at the breath clouding between them. “I’ve always wanted you to stay, James,” she said finally.

Bucky couldn’t find the words to tell her that he felt the same. That he’d always felt the same. That for so long, she was the only thing that made his life bearable and the only thing that he’d ever been afraid to lose. He wasn’t sure he could ever put that into words. But he could hold her close and stroke his thumb across the delicate curve of her cheekbone.

With another soft smile, he bent his head and kissed her again.

And for the first time in a long time, Bucky didn’t want to run away.


	17. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well this fic has been, as the Buddhists say, an excellent teacher. Writing it has taught me patience and balance and the value of plotting ahead of time and learning to untangle a problem instead of abandoning it. And you, my lovely readers, have reminded me time and time again that my writing is not a waste of time, and that my presence--at least in the world of fic--is not a waste of space. My brain is still a dark place, but it's getting brighter and you guys are a huge part of the light that keeps shining through all the cracks.

Epilogue: part two

 

By February, Brooklyn was still a fucking mess.

A different kind of mess than it had been in August. But a mess nonetheless.

Darcy’s shoes squished unpleasantly as she got out of the patrol car and shifted her bag up onto her shoulder. “Is the city’s new plan just to let the snow and ice fill in the potholes so NYDOT doesn’t have to do it?” she grumbled, closing her door as Eddie ambled out of the passenger seat.

“It’s as sound a theory as any,” her partner agreed with a shrug. As they made their way across the parking lot, Darcy noticed that his limp was barely noticeable anymore. She smiled as he held out a hand to help her over the mountain of plowed, grey snow and salt that blocked the back door of the precinct. “I’m almost not looking forward to spring.”

She scoffed and held the door for him to go ahead of her. “That makes exactly one of us,” she assured him. “This snow can suck it.”

Eddie snorted as they scrubbed their shoes on the dirty, wet carpet in the back hallway. “I’m not sure I’ve heard anyone say ‘suck it’ since 2001, Lewis. You’re dating yourself.”

She offered a benign smile. “It’s the risk of living with a pair of centenarians,” she said with a bounce of her shoulders.

Eddie grinned back. “Are you going to feel like empty-nesters when Bucky moves out next month?”

Darcy laughed. “No, I feel like a proud mom, sending her boy off to college,” she assured him.

“And this sense of pride and excitement has nothing to do with you already having plans for that second bedroom?” Eddie asked with a lift of his eyebrows.

“Nothing at all,” she lied, still smiling. “And I certainly haven’t already purchased the most _gorgeous_ desk and bookshelf to go on my side of the office that doesn’t exist yet.”

Her partner sighed. “Is this where you ask me to help you put it together?”

“Plot twist,” Darcy said as they made their way into the main foyer of the precinct. “It’s already assembled!”

“Get the fuck outta here.”

“I will not,” she insisted. “This is now _two_ orders of furniture I have placed that require no personal assembly.”

He let out a low whistle. “That’s some next-level shit, Lewis.”

“Also,” she added, with a thoughtful tilt of her head. “Bucky’s literally moving across the street. I doubt I’m even going to have _time_ to miss him.” Her attention was pulled away by the sight of bouquet of delightfully bright flowers at the reception desk. Blooms of purple and yellow and orange starkly contrasted the browns and greys of the lobby. “Ooh, those are pretty,” she commented as they walked past.

“Glad you like ‘em,” Kristina grinned. “Because they’re for you!”

She frowned in confusion. “For me?”

The receptionist nodded. “Delivery driver just dropped them off. Happy Valentine’s day to you!” She handed over a small card from the florist that simply read _Love you- Steve_ in neat, familiar script.

Darcy tucked the card in her pocket, her cheeks pink as she grabbed the vase and followed Eddie to the elevator.

“Uh oh,” her partner said as he hit the button. “Did you really forget that it was Valentine’s Day?”

She rolled her eyes. “Yeah, I guess it’s all these pesky homicides we’ve been working lately that have been clogging up my calendar.”

They loaded the car together as Eddie laughed. “That’s a bullshit excuse. They start advertising this shit right after Christmas.”

“Yeah, well,” she shrugged, no excuse coming to mind. “I’m the worst. I assume this gloat you’ve got going on is because you did something really nice for Becca?”

“As a matter of fact.” The elevator dinged and they got off on their floor. “I convinced my mom to take the kids all day so she can go to the spa.”

“Ooh,” Darcy raised her eyebrows. “Talk about next-level,” she said. “Nice job, man.”

He shrugged again and watched Darcy set her flowers down at the desk. “Least I can do—she’s kinda been through a lot.”

“Well, if you hadn’t gotten yourself blown up…” Darcy clucked, looking over the tops of her glasses at him.

“Yeah, that’s me,” Eddie dropped into his chair with a sigh. “Mr. Selfish.”

There were times that Darcy could almost forget what they’d been through in the last six months. Times that they joked and laughed and talked like everything was exactly as it had always been. And then there were weird fleeting moments that she was reminded of how close she’d come to losing her best friend. Moments that made her want to cry, like when she walked past Mulligan’s desk and had to get used to the new officer who sat there, and nights she still woke up gasping for breath, nightmares of explosions and dead loved ones and counters that ticked all the way down without anyone stopping them.

 “Speaking of selfish,” Eddie spoke up. “You get Steve anything?”

She grimaced. “Obviously not,” she reached for her phone. “I thought it was the eleventh until ten minutes ago.” Her thumb hovering over his name on the screen, she looked up again. “Don’t eavesdrop.”

Eddie rolled his eyes so hard she almost felt it from across the desk. “I’m barely listening to you now,” he assured her.

Steve answered on the third ring. “So apparently it’s Valentine’s Day?” she asked by way of greeting as she dropped into her chair across from Eddie.

“That’s what they tell me,” Steve said, a smile evident in his voice. “And I know it’s not my traditional gift of cheap Mexican food wrapped in aluminum foil, but I thought you’d like something different this year.”

She smiled. “They’re beautiful,” she assured him softly and let her fingers drift over the soft petals. “Thank you.”

“You can thank me later if you want,” Steve replied with what Darcy could only imagine was a mischievous sparkle in his eye.

“Oh, I totally want,” she assured him. “And fully intend to as I have nothing to offer you but my body and my wanton desires.”

“Sold,” Steve said quickly enough to make her laugh.

Her smile dropped away as the doors of the elevator opened and Driscoll stalked in. His mouth was set in a straight line; he looked cold and frustrated and not the version of her lieutenant Darcy wanted to go through an afternoon briefing with. “But I gotta go—the boss just walked in. Talk to you soon.”

Steve let her go without another word and Darcy dropped her phone back into her purse as Driscoll stopped right at the edge of their desk. She exchanged a worried glance with Eddie. “Good,” he said, addressing the pair of them. “You’re both here. That makes it easy.”

“Makes what easy, LT?” Eddie asked, an edge of uncertainty in his voice.

“Listen up,” Driscoll turned from the desk and clapped his hands together, pulling the collective attention of the bullpen. “I have an announcement,” he called, silencing the low din of conversation. “Effective immediately, Officer Lewis and Officer Kimball will no longer be serving in this department.”

Darcy felt her stomach plummet as her eyes widened. Her mouth ran dry as she darted her gaze to Eddie. His own eyes were narrowed, staring hard at their lieutenant in disbelief.

Driscoll wasn’t finished. He continued before either of them could say a word. “Because effective immediately, they will be serving as _Detective_ Lewis and _Detective_ Kimball.” He turned back to face them and accepted two small boxes that a uniformed officer had delivered from his office. Driscoll’s grin was downright gleeful as he set one box in front of each of them.

Darcy’s heart was still lodged somewhere up in her throat as she pulled her eyes from the box and stared back at Driscoll. “What?” she croaked finally.

He laughed over the applause and whoops and hollers from the bullpen. “Exam results came in this morning,” he said and reached out to clap them both on the shoulders. “Congratulations, you two,” he said  “This has been a long time coming.”

Unable to shake her disbelief, she looked up to see that Eddie had stood and was shaking hands with Driscoll. She did the same, barely registering her boss telling them how proud he was.

“I never had any doubt,” their lieutenant assured her, giving her hand a firm shake.

It was enough to pull her back into the moment and bring a smile to her face. “Thank you, sir” she managed. “We won’t let you down.”

Driscoll had only stepped away for a second before Eddie swooped over to wrap her in a tight hug. Darcy felt the familiar sting of tears prick the corners of her eyes and she said another silent thank you to whoever was responsible for letting her share this moment with her best friend.

When he let her go and turned to call and share the news with Becca, Darcy leaned her hip against her side of the desk and picked up the box containing her new shield. Its crest gleamed gold and bright, winking in the light with promise. She ran her thumb over the number and the words _New York City Detective_ as a smile came to her lips.

The rest of the squad descended upon the two newest detectives with hugs and high-fives and hard slaps on the backs. Someone offered to buy the first round after work and the celebration started all over again.

“Hey, Detective Lewis,” Eddie broke her train of thought again. She snapped her head up and smiled at the sight of him attaching his shield to his belt. “What should we do now?”

She closed her fingers around her new badge and lifted it from the box before she looked back at her partner. “We should get back to work.”

 

- _fin_ -

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Detective Lewis will return.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love you.  
> I kiss you.  
> I hope you liked it. 
> 
> -MJ

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know what you think?
> 
> Also, come and be a friendship on Tumblr: idontgettechnology. Ain't no party like a Darcyland party after all. :-)


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